The Adventure Continues
by Iscreamer1
Summary: The sequel to "The Adventures of Thomas" set during the events of Enterprising Engines to The Great Railway Show. Christopher's skeptic of a son Richard finds himself on the Island of Sodor where the engines have to deal with the diesels in a railway show that will settle their differences for good.
1. Prologue

Thomas the Tank Engine had led a happy life on the Island of Sodor for almost fifty-two years. His blue coat shone in the sun, he was right on time and all around his famous branch line, the countryside seemed prettier than ever before. He had many engine friends and they all tried to be really useful through hard times and depressing wars.

The time was three in the afternoon on September 25, 1967 when he spoke to his friend Percy the Small Engine with the old milk van at Elsbridge, the station by the river where Thomas went fishing once and ended up having a family of fish in his boiler.

"Good morning, Percy," he whistled. "If there's something special about me, it would have to be this: My branch is the pride of the line, I have many friends, I have pulled several trains, been into a couple of scrapes…and yet…"

He let out a sad sigh.

"But what, Thomas?" asked Percy. "Out with it!"

"I feel incomplete. What could be missing from my perfect life?"

"A human friend?" was the first thought that came into Percy's mind.

"I miss Christopher," Thomas said, looking up at the sky.

During World War II, Thomas had befriended a ten-year-old boy named Christopher Awdry, who was the son of the very first person Thomas met when he was first built back in 1913. Christopher longed for his father who was away fighting for his country and it took him a while to accept it and view Thomas as a friend, a surrogate brother and a surrogate father along with the rest of the engine family, whom he spent his spare time fixing and helping with their problems. When the war ended, Gordon, the Big Express Engine, took Christopher all the way back to London where he lived and none of the other engines had seen him since. Diana, the daughter of Thomas' driver, had also left for the mainland in search of Christopher, with no word having been heard from her other than a wedding invitation. Thomas thought that Christopher was special, almost as special as him.

"I miss him too, Thomas," added Percy. "But we can't keep living in the past for long with all these diesel engines and whatnot. There's bound to be a competition over at the mainland if we are to show the world that anything they can do, _we_ can do just as good."

"The Fat Controller says Christopher may visit us, but I don't think he wants to anymore. He would rather spend time with his own family than visit us."

"Maybe he will, but let's not dwell upon him any longer. We've got work to do."

And Percy hurried away to deliver the milk to Mr. Crowe's farm, leaving Thomas to mope by himself.


	2. Richard

_8:00 p.m., Sunday, October 1_ _st_ _, 1967_

King's Norton in Birmingham, England was the home of a boy named Richard Awdry, he was fifteen years old with blue eyes, black hair dyed blond in order to distinguish himself from the rest of his family, thin and fit for his age and shared his family's passion for trains. He lived in a sensible three-story home with his mother Diana, his one year older sister Verity, his paternal aunts Veronica Chambers and Hilary Fortnam, his uncles, Alf Fortnam and Richard Chambers (whom he was named after), his great-uncle George, his younger cousins Mark and Claire Chambers and Simon, Sara and Rachel Fortnam, his grandparents, Margaret and Wilbert and his father Christopher, whom he adored out of everyone else in his big family.

Born in 1952, he was the first member to a new generation of Awdrys following his father and mother's marriage. He had some friends at the school his grandparents picked, to be precise Kings Norton Boys School and was fast, strong and clever to achieve a high grade or two on his favorite subjects, among them engineering. His relationship with Christopher was just about as strong as Christopher's own father Wilbert, doing things like trainspotting, playing games, seeing movies (even some that took place on trains) and even building model train sets, using one such set that Wilbert brought back from Dunkirk as a Christmas present for Christopher.

Yet as he grew older, Richard wanted to be more independent, for the ideal image of a growing boy meant that he needed to support himself, while Christopher felt left out, but it gave him some time to focus some attention on his daughter, nieces and nephews.

On this particular day, Christopher went up to Richard's room and asked his son.

"Aren't you getting ready for your recital tomorrow?"

"I know I have practiced hard, but my ability to sing just doesn't work for me."

"And why is that?"

"I can't hit any high notes."

"All it takes is practice," his father smiled. "Like the practice it took me to learn how to repair the engines on Sodor."

"Not that story again," groaned Richard.

Sure enough, Christopher went into his favorite tale; about how as a ten-year-old boy living in World War II, was separated from his family at Euston Station and got on the wrong train where he met a little blue engine named Thomas who took him to the Island of Sodor where trains, cars and trucks could talk. Christopher spent a good five years on the island, changing from a boy to a handsome young man as he learned to be really useful, as was the coda of North Western Railway.

After Christopher finished for what Richard counted as the fiftieth time, the boy said.

"Great story, Dad, but it needs a new ending."

He went into the bathroom to change as Christopher muttered to him.

"Why won't you understand that everything I tell you in your grandfather's books is true?"

Monday came quickly and it was already dinnertime before they were due to leave for the recital. Grandmother Margaret bought an extra pair of brown shoes, just in case Richard misplaced his, for the morning after the recital, they were due to go to Barrow-in-Furness for a gala with the great Dr. Richard Beeching, chairman of British Railways who was responsible for the many changes that he saw as an improvement to the railway network. Some like Richard (whom he also shared a given name with) disagreed with Beeching, as it saw the death of steam engines from all of the country, who were being replaced by powerful and more efficient diesel engines. Five years ago, he filed a report that saw the closing of 7,000 stations and a withdrawal in passenger services by a restriction of 5,000 miles. His report would save a net worth of £18m per year and the cutbacks would result in a largescale scrapping of three million goods wagons. They were known as Beeching cuts.

Because of these foreclosures, Richard called Dr. Beeching a "miserable, vile, cum-sucking bastard who gave people like Hitler and Mussolini a bad name."

His aunts were no help either, they were concentrating on setting up the family's next holiday through sweepstakes.

"Why do we need all of this?" Claire had wondered.

"We could win all kinds of prizes," Aunt Veronica said to her and Uncle Rich. "A cruise to Spain, a hike up Monte Rosa, a train ride on the Rainbow Sun in Shining Time Station…"

"Shining Time Station?" Uncle Alf was interested. "I could chip in for that, as soon as I get another ten pounds to add to our savings account."

Simon, the youngest occupant of the household, tugged his father's shirt and said.

"Dad, have you seen my tie?"

"Did you check Richard's closet?"

"He won't let me into his room."

"Well, I think I'll see to that."

He walked up to Richard's room just as his oldest daughter Rachel was coming down, all decked out in her pump pink frilly dress. She twirled in it as she showed it to her mother.

"What do you think of it?"

Aunt Hilary had her doubts.

"I'm not sure if I like it. When I was your age, I didn't wear pink. I wanted to wear something like…green. Like the apples on a summer's apple tree. And since Halloween is coming soon, I think you should wear, orange."

"Can I at least wear it to the recital?" Rachel tried not to argue.

"You may," Aunt Hilary nodded.

Satisfied, Rachel waited in the living room for Sara, Claire and Verity when Richard came down in his recital suit, a blue shirt with a green tie and black trousers.

"Well!" said Aunt Hilary from the dining room. "You're looking all spiffed up!"

"Like what I wore to my recital," added Mark. "Same tie and everything."

As soon as Sara came down the stairs with her fluorescent green dress and Simon with his tie, they all prepared to leave for the recital, which was to take place at the lunch hall of Kings Norton Boys School. The tables were removed and the seats were arraigned to form rows. One of Richard's friends, who had a musical flair, played the evensong and the choir, with Richard in the front row, sang "O Danny Boy" in alto.

Even though Richard could sing very well, he had some problems controlling the volume of his voice, and whenever he felt agitated, like going to a certain gala for instance, he would scream the lyrics so high they could have shattered the glass into a thousand pieces.

"AND WHEN THE VALLEY'S HUSHED AND WHITE WITH SNOW!" was all he could sing before he stopped and deliberately walked off the stage in a huff while the others finished without him. This caught the family off guard, Christopher, his sisters, Diana and his parents gasped while Verity, the in-laws and cousins held their ears.

"I guess my brother's voice is not what it used to be anymore," Verity said to herself.

Richard walked all the way home and his father caught up with him. Neither of them said a word until every member of the Awdry, Chambers and Fortnam families was present in the living room, hoping to get a word out of the troubled teen.

"I admit I was immature," confessed Richard. "But with this whole trip and the recital and everything…it wears a guy out."

"Well good news," added Great-Uncle George sardonically. "You're going to get a lot of rest because we are expected to leave at eight on the dot."

Being certain to make sure that no one was going to hear what he had to say next, Richard walked upstairs muttering.

"I wish I never saw any of you again. Then I can I have a life of my own."

He changed into his pajamas and went unhappily to sleep. If today was stressful for him, tomorrow would be even worse..


	3. The Gala

_8:00 a.m., Tuesday, October 3_ _rd_ _, 1967_

By the next morning, Richard woke up to hear nothing but silence all around him. He was aware that today was supposed to be the day they were to leave for Barrow, but there was nothing to be heard until a soft rumbling penetrated his ears; a rumbling that seemed to correspond with a marching row of soldiers entering the battlefield. When his upper body was sitting upright from the bed, his father, wearing a brown suit and tie rushed in shouting.

"Come on son, we're going to miss our train!"

He then left, running down the stairs to look for his wife.

It was at this very moment in history that Richard Awdry had fully woken up and he looked out his bedroom door to see the rest of his family running all over the house, scrambling to get their things ready. In response, he jumped out of bed and immediately got dressed. After packing his worn pajamas in the suitcase, he found his mother outside, calling over the din while his sister did a headcount.

"All right, Awdrys in the first taxi, Chambers in the second taxi and Fortnam in the third!"

Aunt Hilary and Uncle Alf, standing beside a trio of black Austin FX4 taxis, were in rapid discussion.

"Do you have the tickets?" she asked him.

"Oh, I've got my family, you've got your family?"

Then Aunt Veronica came up carrying a handful of British Railway tickets, she gave six of them to Hillary, keeping four of them in her left hand.

"These six are for Mum, Dad, Diana, Chris, Verity and Richard. These four are for me, Rich and the children."

Aunt Hillary handed the five tickets to Margaret, who kept one and gave it to Wilbert. Christopher and Diana received two of them and Richard had just about finished packing his suitcase when his mother asked where he was.

"Coming!" Richard shouted as he ran down the steps holding the suitcase in both hands.

As he ran over, Rachel asked her mother.

"How come we're not sitting in the same taxi? There looks like enough room to fit all sixteen of us."

"Austin taxis can only take six people, five being us and one being the driver."

They all put their suitcases in the trunks, got in and the three vehicles drove the family to the recently redeveloped Birmingham New Street station. There, they immediately got out of the taxis, grabbed their belongings and ran through the crowds that got out of their way in time to let them through, apparently understanding the importance of their situation. The train in question was to depart from Platform 3, which consisted of BR Class 55 and a set of eight maroon coaches with yellow lining. They slowed to a stop once they reached the train and the guard let them inside once they presented their tickets.

"Your compartments are in the fourth coach closest to the engine."

"Well that's a nice treat," Richard added sarcastically, dismayed by the sight of being pulled by a diesel engine.

Richard shared a compartment with his sister and cousins, while the adults had their own in the compartment on the right to theirs. Margaret and Wilbert, being the oldest of the family, thought it best to have their own compartment on the left to where the children where.

"Well, we made it," Wilbert said to his wife. "I just hope we did not forget anything."

"Or anyone," Margaret replied sternly. "Last time we went on holiday, we almost left Sara at home when she was a baby. And thank goodness we remembered, because God knows what would have happened if we did."

Wilbert pushed that thought aside as the train jerked and pulled out of Birmingham into the open countryside.

Uncle George, who felt that the compartment was already crowded, spent most of the journey in the buffet car. First, he drank a glass of champagne (though he later gave it to another patron as he did not like the taste of it) and had some biscuits with a glass of water to wash it down. Mark and Claire on the other hand, were observing the intricate details of their glasses as they sat down to lunch.

"They look beautiful," said Mark.

"Almost like crystals," added Claire. "Do you think they are worth a fortune?"

"Probably not. Besides, they belong to the company."

Also in the buffet car, Richard tried to order scotch, but even if he was old enough to drink adult beverages, Christopher intervened and the bartender reminded him that he was still under the age of twenty-one, so he got a glass of Coca-Cola instead. This was followed by a glass of water, (which he sprinkled some salt on it) a Ruben sandwich and some chips.

"A penny for your thoughts?" his father asked him.

"Nothing that I can tell you aside from my own personal wish of wanting to be home alone."

"Richard, it won't be as bad as you think. There will be model trains there."

Richard just blew a sigh and spoke his opinion again.

"There are matters back home that I'd like to attend to."

"Like what?"

"Learning to get a job….trying to have some time away from you. I want to be independent."

"But are you ready? When I was ten, I wondered to myself 'If I grow and I will not be able to live with Mum and Dad anymore where I go then?' And my sisters and I did just that."

"On your imaginary island no doubt," Richard muttered, and he walked away to the table by the window, leaving his father to pay for the lunch.

It was close to the afternoon when they neared Barrow-in-Furness. Christopher, looking out of the window, could almost see a bridge that was raised all the way in the distance. He knew what it was.

"Look, it's the Vicarstown Rolling Bridge!" he said to Richard.

Richard could have cared less, he had known well enough that their final destination was closing in fast. As soon that they grabbed their suitcases, they got off the train and went to look for a hotel. The one that seemed to be the best for Grandfather Wilbert's tastes was The Duke of Edinburgh, which was a hundred metres away from the train station. Inside, it looked old, but fancy and had three available rooms for each family, give or take a few members. Their room was a large space with an angular roof, located a floor down from the top, where they could see the railway yard from their window.

"Now remember," said Wilbert as they got dressed for the occasion. "We're going to a formal event, which means good manners."

But Richard was already lying sprawled on the bed with no shirt, arms raised above his head to the pillow acting up like a model for a pornographic magazine. He was tired yet longing to be in the peace and quiet of his bedroom and having to share his room with his cousins, he felt like wanting to kill himself by smoking one cigarette after another. But Richard had never smoked a cigarette in his entire life, no thanks to his parents not wanting him to and he was wise to choose a company of friends who enjoyed doing other rebellious stuff besides taking drugs.

Christopher came into the room, grabbed his right hand with his left and pulled him upright. The teen gave his father a frustrated sigh.

"Like your grandfather said…good manners."

"Good manners doesn't cut it," Richard mumbled. "Dr. Beeching is an arse."

"Polite vocabulary will suffice as well," his father said sternly. "Now get dressed."

Richard took his suit and stomped into the bathroom, muttering "I wish you left me home alone," all the way.

His three-piece suit was brown and made of St. Kilda tweed, almost matching his blond hair combed back and he came out of the bathroom in a huff as his cousins waited their turn. When Verity and the cousins got dressed moments later, they looked so prim and proper that they made Richard look like an outcast in terms of table manners and posture.

His parents, grandparents, aunts and uncles looked dapper in dresses of red, green, brown and blue, matching the colors of the illustrations found his father's stories. Even Verity's dress looked impressive with it's water blue silk and ice green ribbons.

"Do you like my dress, Richard?" she asked, twirling girlishly.

Richard nodded perfunctorily, but secretly, he thought it looked like it's true colors had been washed away by a rain storm.

"Now remember," Grandfather Wilbert repeated. "Good manners."

As before, they took three cabs to the gala, which was to take place at Town Hall. A coat check girl found Richard to be dapper and dashing as he removed his coat, but he took this as a typical female remark.

"I do wish all the girls would stop complimenting me as if I were some prized bull," said Richard to his parents.

"Do I act like one of them?" Verity was offended.

"No," Richard shook his head.

"Then Dad says it's good enough for every girl except me and the cousins."

"If it is good enough for the Queen Mother, it can be good enough for Dr. Beeching," Christopher ridiculed them. "When I was much younger than the both of you, I too was a bit headstrong and when I was fifteen, I was practically and adult. Can you at least, please try to be like an adult just for tonight, son?"

Smiling to his father, Richard said.

"I suppose I can."

The reception part of the hall was crowded with almost a half section of Cumbrian society. Richard was now walking in a trance, surrounded by strangers now matter how famous or notable they were. It was not as though his family were a part of the landed gentry with the way they stared at him.

At last they found Dr. Beeching and his wife Ella, standing in the center of the room, holding champagne glasses.

"What a surprise!" said Dr. Beeching once the Awdry family came up to him.

"How do you do?" asked Diana, keeping a civil tongue with Mrs. Beeching. "I was afraid that we would never make it."

After watching his male cousins grab a large helping of food off a wheeled cart, Richard found himself bumping into his parents. Verity had gone over to discuss popular music artists with the other girls.

"I trust that this is your son, perhaps?" asked Dr. Beeching after taking another swig of his champagne.

"Yes, I am," Richard said with the tone of a rebel. "And all I can say about Dr. Beeching is that you are an arse!"

Dr. Beeching's welcome tone faded from sight.

"What did you call me?"

Richard's free speech was loud and clear for everyone to hear, stopping the usual small to hear him out of curiosity.

"You heard me. An arse! A faggot! The railways may be open to you, but to others they are our way of life! If you close down any more roads, many people will be out of a business thanks to you. A true businessman of common decency would have the balls to open rail lines almost everywhere in the country, not go backwards!"

Dr. Beeching tried not lose his temper.

"I can tell you this, young man. With less railway lines, people can do more business on farms."

"And how would they got to those farms?"

"Buses."

"Railway lines are better answer. And I would rather see every last steam engine in the world living a free life on a private line, not some scrapyard where your cruel cutters can cut them up!"

"Richard!" his father reprimanded.

Richard's speech was met with an applause by those who were against the Beeching Axe. Some, mostly Beeching's supporters, took this with a horrified gasp at seeing such a great man be insulted by an immature child. Looking at his parents, then the guests and the rest of his family with sorrow in his eyes, Richard stomped his way out of the hall and the party resumed.

Outside, Diana and Christopher met Richard by the front hall. His mother spoke first in a serious tone.

"How could you say such things?! Dr. Beeching may be an arse as you think, but he is only doing his job."

"What job?" scoffed Richard. "To melt down all those magnificent steam engines?"

"Steam will survive," Diana told him. "I know because I too come from Sodor, did I ever tell you that?"

Richard shook his head.

"No. And I thought you lived here when you were a girl."

"Sodor is my home! And it is just around the corner, in case you didn't see."

Richard looked at his father, then his mother, and finally gave his decision.

"The last thing I want is to end up like you two."

Disillusioned, Richard turned on his heels and walked back to the hotel, slowly at first then faster. He ran all the way to his room when he got there and it seemed like there was nothing Diana or Christopher could say or do until the party was over. Only then, would they speak to Richard.

Sitting down on the edge of his bed, Richard contemplated the next move he would make. Taking his own life would seem like a senseless route, so the best idea that occur to him was to simply run away…as far away as possible from his family where he could start a new life as a preservationist. So he got his suitcase, gathered his things and emptied them from the drawers. The last thing he did was leave a letter on the pillow and he told the desk manager downstairs that he would be leaving.

"If my family wishes to find me," he told the man. "I'll be just around the corner."

Then he marched into the darkness past streets of houses where families were retiring for the night, the lampposts going by him providing a reticent vigil to protect their sleeping children. They had faded from the back of his eyes once he came into a sea of black where a myriad of railway tracks lay in the barely visible blackness. The only other sights that Richard began to see before him, was a fine scenery of coal trucks and flatbeds being loaded with lumber from a depot along with empty cattle wagons for cows to be sent to market. Richard's eyes grew dreary, hoping to find a signal light to guide his way, whether it be red or green. He was looking left and right for a passenger train, making sure he was on a safe line so that other trains would not run him over.

As his legs began to wear from the exhaustion of lugging his suitcase the entire time, Richard came to a siding where the shape of an autocoach came out of the darkness like a ghost. He would have liked to stay in there and ask the owner if this was a private train, but to do that he had to speak with the guard in his brake van, which was attached to the end of the autocoach.

Finding no-one in there, Richard climbed himself in as a goods train came thundering by. The next thing he knew, he was yawning and covering himself inside a white sheet on the floor. Shivering from the cold, poor Richard covered his head under the blanket, catching a last glimpse of the dark sky and all the stars in its vast and endless universe to guide him into a deep sleep.

Little would he reckon that his grandfather's stories were not as completely fictional as he had thought them to be.


	4. Escape to Sodor

_1:00 a.m., Wednesday, October 4_ _th_ _, 1967_

Douglas had taken the midnight goods to a station on the "Other Railway". He was just shunting, ready for his return journey when….

 _Hisssssssss._

 _That sounds like a steam engine_ , he thought.

The "hiss" came again.

"Who's there?"

A whisper came.

"Are you a Fat Controller's engine?"

"Aye, and proud of it."

"Thank goodness! Well, I'm Oliver and I'm with my coach Isabel and brakevan Toad. We're escaping to your railway, but we have run out of coal and water and have no more steam."

"Is it from scrap ye're escaping?"

"Yes."

"Then it's glad I'll be to help ye; but we maun wurrk fast."

Both crews joined in. They took off Oliver's side-rods, placed a brown canvas sack on his funnel, wrote out transit labels, and chalked "SCRAP" everywhere they could.

Douglas marshalled Oliver in front of his train.

"No time to turn round," he panted. "I maun run tender furrst."

And off they went.

"Yoohoo! Yoohoo!" yelled a passing Deltic. "A steamer's escaping! Yoohoo!"

Douglas puffed firmly on.

"Take no notice," he counselled; but they were stopped before they could clear the station throat.

The foreman's lamp shone on Oliver.

"Aha!" he exclaimed. "A 'Western' engine!" His light flickered back. "A 'Western' auto-coach and a goods-brake van too! You can't take these!"

"Can we no!" said Douglas' driver. "They're all fer uz. See fer yeself."

Douglas' guard showed him the labels and papers. Oliver's crew, hiding in Isabel, hardly dared to breathe. Nobody even bothered to check Toad.

"Seems in order," said the foreman grudgingly. "But it's queer."

"Sure, and it is," began the guard. "But I could tell you queerer . . . "

"So could I!" interrupted the foreman. "Right away, guard."

"A near thing," puffed Douglas with relief.

"We've had worse," smiled Oliver as they forged ahead. "We ran at night, away from our old line which was being dieselised. Friendly signalmen would pass us from box to box when no trains were about. We got on well till 'control' heard about a 'mystery train'. Then, they tried to hunt us down."

"What did you do?"

"A signalman let us hide on an old quarry branch. Driver, fireman, and guard blocked the cutting with branches, leaves and rubbish, and levered one of the approach rails away. We stayed there for days, with diesels baying and growling like hounds outside. I was very frightened then."

"Small blame to you," said Douglas feelingly.

Presently, they rumbled over the Vicarstown Rolling Bridge and on to the Fat Controller's Railway.

"We're home! They can't catch ye noo."

"Tell Isabel and Toad please."

Douglas called out the news, and heard a joyful "Tingalingaling! Tingalingaling!" He was surprised.

Oliver chuckled. "That must be Isabel," he said. "There is a bell on her you see. She's clever. When we go out together, I pull one way, and push the other. When I pull, I can see ahead. When I push, I can't; so Isabel keeps a good look-out, and rings her bell to talk to me."

"Ye dinna say!" Douglas was impressed.

"About Toad," he continued. "Is he really yer breakvan . . .? "

"Haud yer wheest," said his driver. "Yon's the wurrks. We maun slip in unbeknowst, and find a place for Oliver."

It was daybreak when the journey had finally come to an end. Douglas tried hard to be quiet, but the night foreman heard them, and had to be told their secret.

"I know just the place," he said, and showed them an empty siding nicely hidden away.

Oliver said "goodbye" and "thank you", and Douglas puffed away.

But no sooner had he left with his train when he heard a sound like the yawn of a young man. Oliver's guard, checking the white sheets inside of Toad, nearly jumped back and fell over when he saw...

That it was indeed a young man in a brown suit. He had blonde hair and was no more than fifteen. The young man yawned and stretched his arms.

Seeing the guard, he asked.

"Excuse me, sir, but is this your private train?"

"I suppose it is," said the guard, crossing his arms. "But can't you tell the difference between a private train and a runaway?"

"Runaway?"

"We helped this one escape from being scrapped just hours ago."

The boy climbed out of Toad and the guard walked him over to Oliver. The boy was startled when he saw his face, no matter how friendly it had seemed to be.

"I'm Oliver, and this is Isabel and Toad. Who might you be?"

"Richard Awdry and I must be dreaming," the boy waved his right hand nervously.

"Is he a curious sort?" asked Isabel for the first time since they left the siding.

"He's not a curious sort, Miss Isabel," Toad spoke from behind her. "He's a stowaway."

"Actually," Richard said. "I was running away from my family to be more independent."

"Well, I ran away too," replied Oliver.

And he told Richard the whole story.

"As much as I am anti-Dr. Beeching, I refuse to believe that trains can talk."

"They can, Richard. That's part of the reason why I ran away to here."

Then Richard became curious, inciting the authenticity behind his grandfather's stories.

"Where do you suppose are the others?"

"Probably on the other side of the island," said Oliver. "Douglas just left down the main line in that direction."

His eyes indicated to the left, yet the station was nearby, and without looking back, Richard retrieved his suitcase from Toad and walked his way to the station.

He did not have to wait long, when Percy, a small green engine with four wheels, came alongside with a pair of mail wagons carrying parcels for the Skarloey Railway. Richard was even more distraught.

"Oh hello," he said. "What are you doing at this hour?"

"Well, my name is Richard, my father is Christopher Awdry-"

But Percy somehow, did not appear to have heard the young man properly. He thought he was someone else.

"Come along in my cab," he said to the teen. "I've got a surprise for the other engines."

"What sort of surprise?"

"Wait and see."

Richard walked into Percy's cab and after leaving the empty mail vans on a siding not too far from Oliver, he raced back to the big station of Tidmouth as the teen watched the beautiful sights of Sodor pass him by, but he was reluctant to believe that any of this existed.

"This cannot be a dream, can it?" he asked the driver.

"A dream come true is more like it," said the fireman.

Richard watched the countryside turn into an urban city as Percy came rushing into the yard, whistling.

"Everyone! Christopher's back! Christopher's back!"

The other engines in the shed were just about waking up to hear the whistle.

"Christopher?" asked an engine named Gordon.

"Christopher?" repeated a green one named Henry.

"Christopher!" exclaimed a blue one called Edward.

"Who?" questioned a Great Western engine named Duck. "Is Christopher?"

"A young man who came to help us during the war," yawned a red engine named James. "Didn't we ever tell you about him?"

"No...was he that important?"

"As important as anybody ever cared for us steam engines."

His eyes peered over to the diesel BoCo.

"What?" he asked as his driver was starting up his motor.

"You'll know him when you see him, BoCo," said the brown tram engine named Toby. "I know I met Christopher before he even came to Sodor."

Douglas, having heard the shouts, came into the shed alongside his twin brother Donald and waited for Percy to present the mysterious visitor. But Richard was shy, and with some coaxing from Percy's crew, he gained the momentum to walk out from the cab to meet the disappointed faces of the engines.

"That's not Christopher!" spluttered Gordon.

"This is an impostor!" added Henry.

"Last time I checked," put in James. "The Christopher I knew had brown hair."

"He does look awful," sympathized Edward. "But I think he's the wrong Christopher."

Richard, having had enough, stomped his feet in response.

"I'm not Christopher! I'm his son, Richard!"

The engines shrunk back, surprised.

"His son?!"

"That's even worse!" called a pair of twin tank engines named Bill and Ben. "Kids are no good round here!"

"Says the duo who nearly popped my eyes out," BoCo added sternly.

"Answers to the one who made our trucks magically vanish!" Bill cried angrily.

"Please!" protested Edward. "That incident's water under the bridge."

Before anyone else could strike up an argument, Donald, Douglas' twin, had formatted an idea.

"Why not we ask Thomas? Is obvious the wee engine noos a lot more than any of uz."

Donald's driver phoned the crew at Ffarquhar and when Thomas heard the news, he rushed out of his shed, telling everyone else.

"Sorry, can't talk. Got to see Percy about a boy. Daisy, you take care of my passengers until I get back!"

Daisy, the diesel rail-car who came to help the branch line after Thomas had crashed into the stationmaster's house, was at a loss for words, but she eventually agreed.

Thomas puffed to Tidmouth as fast as he could, panting and thinking about all the many things he wanted to say to Christopher once they had reunited.

When he approached the shed, Richard turned from the engines to Thomas. Both the engine and the teen were completely surprised and a little disappointed with their expectations. Thomas instantly knew that the boy standing before him was not Christopher when Gordon spoke.

"You know better than us, little Thomas. Do you even know for certain that this imposter is his son?"

Thomas faced the other engines in a strong manner, pleading to his cause.

"It's time I confessed the truth. Something that only myself, Percy and Toby knew as I didn't have the time to bother telling you or anyone else about it. He married my driver's daughter. He has a family, a house and a few extra pounds to his name, but I can tell you for certainty that this is son Richard. He told me all about him in his letters and sent me a photograph of what he looked like."

"M-m-married?" stuttered James. "And with kids?"

"And perhaps," Thomas added. "He could help us prepare for The Great Railway Show that will prove to the world that steam engines are just about as good as diesels."

"All right," smiled Henry. "Let's see if he has his father's skills as a mechanic."

"Actually," Richard confessed. "I've mostly done some patching on the family motorcar."

Bill and Ben laughed derisively.

"So what if I'm out of practice?" snapped Richard. "I can learn. I even had to leave my family just so I could be independent...but I'd never thought I'd end up in the setting of my grandfather's books."

An epiphany flew into the engine's funnels.

"You mean?" asked Edward. "That your grandfather is the Author?"

"Yes," answered Richard. "I have figured that my skepticism would lead to this consequence. Would you mind proving to me that this isn't a dream?"

With a shrugged face, Edward blew steam at him, nearly soaking his suit. Everything, it had finally come to him, was real. Thomas countered this by inviting Richard to his cab and he puffed back to the branch line. This left the other engines to start work.

Daisy had already left the top station with the milk van when Thomas took Richard there.

"I suppose the reason you have brought me here was so we could speak in private?"

"Yes, but do you even know what you said back there? About being the Author's son?"

"I did say that 'I'd never thought I'd end up in the setting of my grandfather's books.' Is that proof enough for you? Because I cannot believe that any of this is possible."

"Your father's thoughts were pretty similar the first time I met him…all the way back to 1940."

Richard's eyes widened by two inches, asking.

"1940? That wouldn't be the same time in which he took the wrong train from Euston to Barrow?"

"Yes," said Thomas. "And I met him there while picking up some evacuees. When he stayed here for the duration of the war, he spent more than enough of his spare time fixing us and helping engines with their problems….in spite of his own problems like missing your grandfather for one thing."

Richard could not imagine his own father in that position. He had seen photographs of him as a child many times, but they mostly looked happy.

"Listen," he tried to reason to the tank engine. "Whatever you want me for, I'm only good at patching up cars."

"It's for the Railway Show in case you hadn't heard me before. The Railway Show is an international event that they just recently made up to prove that steam and diesel engines are just as good as one another."

"And for that, I deserve to help you?"

"Well, yes. You are your father's son after all."

Richard sat down on a nearby bench to ponder over this while Thomas went to work.

Meanwhile in another part of Barrow where only the diesels performed their duties, a nasty renegade of a diesel served as the jewel of the scrapyard's machinery…Diesel 10, simply numbered that way by his constructors for his devious deeds and brutal strength. In person, he was rough, coarse and a brilliant thinker. His eyes had some profound superiority upon his fellow diesels, save for when he saw a steam engine within his field of vision, at which time they flashed with anger and saw the poor victim as nothing more than an object of scorn and disease.

For the purpose of "cleansing" British Railways of it's steam power, Dr. Beeching personally suggested adding a claw that would be hidden inside his midsection so as not to go against the British loading gauge. He gained his reputation by working from scrapyard to scrapyard, and this year, he was stationed at Barrow. Of course, Diesel 10 was not alone, for his travels had earned him multitudes of loyal followers, including eight Class 08 diesel shunters known as the "Gronks": "Devious" Diesel, who had been to Sodor before and was outsmarted by Duck the Great Western Engine, twin brothers Splatter and Dodge, another pair of twins named Iron Arry and Iron Bert, the well-meaning Paxton, the forgetful Sidney who bore the color of the forget-me-not and Ulli an official "Gronk" owned by a cargo company. Other followers included Dennis, a Bulleid prototype, Den and Dart, a pair of diesel shunters who seemed to be smarter than the other and Derek a jolly Clayton Diesel electric Type 1, who had that nasty habit of breaking down.

By the late afternoon, Diesel 10 was pacing backwards and forward through sidings, keeping a close eye on any candidates that were perfect for scrapping. Peering left and right, he was silent for a moment before he shouted:

"Splatter, Dodge, Double D!"

The three 'Gronks' came in front of him.

"Yes, boss?"

"What is it this time?"

"I've just had an idea pop into my vents. Remember that Great Railway show that I've been hearing much about?"

"Of course we have," Devious Diesel smiled in an oily voice.

"The passengers from the island on the other side of the river have been chatting about it for weeks!" added Dodge.

"I thought it was months," questioned Splatter with a puzzled look on his face. "The way, I heard it, they starting talking about it back in July."

"Months, weeks, who cares?!" Diesel 10 snapped. "We have to prepare before the big day arrives!"

"We're listening," came the voices of Arry, Bert, Sidney and Paxton from behind him.

"My plan is to make one of you look like a truck, one of my 'personal' trucks, so that I look like I am pulling a very heavy train…in front of thousands of people. If that fat guy they call controller thinks that I am stronger than those heaps of rubbish on wheels, why, I could be the winner."

"You mean 'cheat'?" asked Paxton.

"Cheating is a bad way to accomplish success," oiled Sidney.

"I CAN DO WHATEVER I WANT!" shouted the leader. "And we'll do it by sneaking our way onto Sodor. There's a new dieselworks being built just outside the station on the other side and we'll tell the workers there that we are offering to help…with this!"

His giant, snagged claw lifted upwards, snapping thrice…then fell back down again with a slam. This caused the other diesels to laugh before Diesel 10's glare spoke otherwise.

"And keep a lookout for any steamies in need of scrapping…of them escaped my grasp last night and I don't wish to conduct a disservice to Dr. Beeching's wishes, is that clear?"

The diesels agreed and kept a silent vigil for any steam engines that were foolish enough to enter their yard.


	5. Enterprising Engine

_9:44 a.m., Thursday, October 5_ _th_ _, 1967_

Richard had spent the night on a hammock in Ffarquhar Sheds where Thomas lived with Percy, Toby, Daisy and Mavis the quarry diesel. He felt groggy and winded, for he changed his suit into a pair of pajamas, though like his father, he slept shirtless. His head panned left and right, realizing that it was not a dream as he had believed it to be, but he did not worry too much about his parents since they were all the way back in Barrow looking for him.

"This will be the last place on earth that they will find me," Richard thought and went back to sleep.

But not for long.

"Wake up, Richard!" whistled Thomas. "Time for work!"

"What kind of work?" the teen yawned.

"Passengers runs and a quick check up. But before that, the Fat Controller wants us at the big station to say goodbye to Flying Scotsman."

Richard's eyes went wide.

"Flying Scotsman is on this island? He's the fastest engine in the world."

"Yes," replied Thomas. "But don't tell Gordon about it though. Scotsman's his brother."

They arrived at Tidmouth to see Flying Scotsman ready to take his enthusiasts home.

"I hope you will all come and visit me at the Great Railway Show on Sunday!" he called to the others. "I will be racing."

Gordon's feelings were beyond words. But soon, he found them.

"I should be going!"

"Well, I want to go, too!" peeped Thomas.

"Perhaps you will!" replied Flying Scotsman.

The Fat Controller said they had all been honoured, and thanked Flying Scotsman and his owner for their help. "Please tell everyone," he went on, "that whatever happens elsewhere, Steam will still be at work here. We shall be glad to welcome all who want to see, and travel behind, real engines."

The announcement was greeted with cheers, and Flying Scotsman departed to the strains of "Will Ye No Come Back Again?' led, as one might expect, by Donald and Douglas.

At last Douglas could tell his news, and Richard stayed behind to tell them more about his story. They were all excited about it, and agreed something must be done for Oliver.

"I'm feared," said Donald, "some murdering diesel may creep in, and him there alone, lacking steam to even whistle for help.

"You're right," said James. "He won't be safe until till the Fat Controller knows."

"You should tell him at once," said Gordon firmly.

"Is it me speak to the Fat Controller? It's forward he'd think of me, and maybe interfering."

"Well, here he is!" said a cheerful voice. "Now, what's all this about?"

Duck broke the awkward silence. "Beg pardon, sir, but we do need another engine."

"I agree, Duck. That is why I am giving 7101 another chance." Their faces showed such dismay that the Fat Controller had difficulty with his own!

"Sir," ventured Gordon at last. "We had hoped for a real engine."

"They," said the Fat Controller gravely, "are rare, and unless one escapes, there's little hope . . . "

"But, sir," burst out Donald, "one has . . . "

" . . . and, thanks to Douglas, is now at our works," announced the Fat Controller.

"Sir," gasped Douglas, "Is there anything ye don't know?"

"More than you think," he laughed. "Oliver's crew told me all you did, Douglas . . . "

"Och, Sir! Ye couldna' see a braw wee engine, and him in trouble, and no do a wheel's turn . . . "

"More than 'a wheel's turn', I fancy. Douglas, I'm pleased with you. Oliver, Isabel, and Toad will soon be ours. Oliver and Isabel are just what we need for Duck's Branch Line . . . "

Loud cheers greeted this announcements.

" . . . and Toad wants to be your brake van, Douglas."

"Thank you, Sir. I'd hoped for that. He and I'll do brawly together."

That, of course, made everything right. Henry spoke a good word for 7101, and the others gave him a welcome.

Then the Fat controller spoke to Richard, who told him about how Henry rescued both 7101 and his partner 199 when they failed about two days ago. 7101 was pulling the Limited, while 199 was pulling a train of tankers. Henry who was in between them, had lost his regulator, but managed to save the day by pushing and hauling the both of them to Cronk.

"He had good manners for a start," the Fat Controller said to Richard. "So Henry didn't find it hard to teach him our ways. 7101 finds them different from those of the Other Railway, but much more interesting. He is now quite a useful engine. They teased him at first because he growls. They said he was like a bear. He still growls, not because he's cross, but because he can't help it. His name "Bear", has stuck. He likes it. 'It's nicer than having a number,' he says. 'Having a name means you really belong.'"

The Fat Controller soon had Oliver, Isabel, and Toad mended and painted in full Great Western colours. Then, he made arrangements to rescue three more "Western" auto-coaches. Two, Alice and Mirabel, he gave to Duck. The third, Dulcie, joined Oliver and Isabel.

Duck and Oliver are happy on their Branch Line. It runs along the coast to the Small Railway. "We're re-opened Branch," they boast.

They are very proud of this indeed.

The others laughed at first, and called their branch "The Little Western". Duck and Oliver were delighted, and now, no one ever thinks of calling it anything else.

In the meantime, Thomas was thinking of entering the Great Railway Show. He was pulling Annie and Clarabel to Knapford Harbour as he thought of this. Above him, Harold the helicopter making his routine inspections. The way he flew so fast at such a safe distance reminded Thomas of the time Percy raced Harold after he dismissed railways as "slow and out of date".

But Thomas wanted to go faster. Faster than what Percy had experienced.

"Perhaps if I went as fast as the Flying Scotsman, The Fat Controller will definitely have to take me to there."

"You can't," said Annie. "It is not possible for you to even go faster than 50 miles an hour."

"You'll see," said Thomas. "Perhaps if I were streamlined, like Duchess of Hamilton back on the mainland…maybe I could go faster."

Clarabel laughed.

"Who ever heard of a streamlined tank engine?"

"Why, me, of course!"

All through the rest of his course, Thomas tried to go as fast as Gordon, passing through the countryside and going against his driver and fireman's demands. But all Thomas could think about was streamlining himself into a sleeker engine.

He was thinking about what kind of shape he wanted his streamlined self to be, when he saw the Fat Controller on the platform at Knapford Junction. He screeched to a halt right before his position. The Fat Controller looked cross.

"I heard some complaints that you were going too fast against the speed limits."

"Speed limits are for cars," Thomas cracked. "Not engines. Though I must admit that I came in a little too quickly at Ffarquhar."

"Yes, Thomas, you certainly did."

"But I was thinking of an idea, sir. What if I were to take place in the Great Railway Show? I could help the others out best those diesels! Perhaps if you added some streamlining to him—"

But then Gordon arrived with Richard onboard.

"Excuse me, sir," he whistled. "But I found the false Christopher lazing about in the sheds."

Richard heard this as he stepped out of the coach.

"My name is Richard you stuck-up piece of shite!"

Gordon gasped.

"Why I'd never!"

But the Fat Controller pacified the express engine.

"Gordon, I have decided that you should be streamlined. It will help you go faster than ever in the Great Railway Show."

Gordon just beamed.

"Really, sir?"

But Thomas was mad.

"You're twisting what I said, sir."

"Not at all, Thomas, I agree with you. You can go, perhaps as a visitor or an extra participant. Let Gordon handle take part in the race, so that he can prove himself to be faster than any diesel engine that ever existed."

Perhaps those words went to Gordon's smokebox, for he was soon bound to talk of nothing but streamlining for the rest of the day.

"And speaking of Christopher," added the Fat Controller. "Wasn't it your responsibility to look after him when he came to this island, Thomas? You should do the same for Richard. Help him to be really useful, just as his father was."

"I'll try, sir," answered Thomas.

And with that Richard climbed into his cab, ready for the journey back to Ffarquhar.

The other engine denizens on the island were soon informed about Richard's arrival. Some twisting into rumors that Christopher had returned.

Sir Handel and Peter Sam, who had known Christopher when they were still Stuart and Falcon, were certain that the boy, who was probably now all grown up, had returned. Even so, Skarloey and Rheneas were doubtful. Two engines who came to the railway during Christopher's absence, Duncan, No.6, and a diesel named Rusty were left in the dark until Skarloey told them the whole story.

"Anyone would think," reminisced Duncan. "That most boys would be spoiled and unruly, but this Christopher sounds like the complete opposite of that."

"He must be more polite if he's all grown up now," said Rusty.

"But I must mind you," Skarloey added. "He's more than just a special boy, he worked the course of the war without shirking and he even knew Sir Handel and Peter Sam's Duke before they came to our railway. His father also writes stories about us. You should ask Mr. Hugh, since he worked with Christopher during that time."

"What has Mr. Hugh got to do with this?" asked Duncan.

"Mr. Hugh also helped to teach Christopher about engineering," answered Rheneas.

"And he participated in a race between me, Peter Sam and Freddie, one of Duke's friends," added Sir Handel.

Peter Sam weeshed sadly.

"I wish he was here now to see this."

"Well, I wish he could have seen me during the time I had pulled a full train through damp rails. That happened the year after he left."

"I was being overhauled at the time when I heard the news that Gordon had to take him all the way back to London," Skarloey sighed. "So I never got a chance to say goodbye."

Agnes, Ruth, Lucy, Jemima and Beatrice the guard's van agreed with this.

"He was so nice," whispered Beatrice to the bogey coaches Gertrude and Millicent. "My guard told him many tales about his duties as one."

A different, more accurate kind of gossip was soon spreading through the Culdee Fell mountain railway. During Christopher's absence, three additional engines arrived on the railway, Eric (No. 8), Alaric (No. 7) and Patrick (No. 6). Patrick used to be called Lord Harry, and was a terror to the line until he redeemed himself by rescuing a troupe of injured climbers.

"Christopher? Back?" was all Culdee could say when Donald told him all about it. He had somehow misinterpreted his words.

"Who is this Christopher?" Alaric and Eric asked.

"Christopher," explained Wilfred. "Was a god to us all, much realer than a myth."

Patrick wanted some involvement.

"As famous as me?"

"Even more famous," Ernest told him. "Back in '44, he helped me to get started up Devil's Back before my driver could even think about it."

"Well," Patrick said indignantly. "Where is he? I want to see how he does it."

"Hard work and no shirking was what driver told me," Shane Dooiney answered. "As for his whereabouts…he could be with the bigger engines for all I know."

Douglas also told the three little tender engines of the Arlesdale Railway about Christopher before mentioning Richard. Their names were Mike, Rex and Bert. Mike was red, Rex was green and Bert was blue. Many people who travelled on their line, thought of it as a toy railway because of how small they looked. The route followed along the route of the Mid-Sodor Railway, where Duke was still asleep somewhere in his old shed, covered by nature.

"I may not know this Christopher, but I think he must have been a very important influence on the railway," said Rex to the others.

"Well, I find it odd that his son ends up on our island at the same time a Great Western engine is saved from scrap," observed Mike.

"That little boy should consider himself lucky," added Bert. "It's not every day that the children of such famous offspring get a chance to visit our island."

"But whatever he does," warned Mike. "Don't make him a passenger on any of my trains. Not that I don't want to take any."

It was true that Mike disliked taking passengers, but Rex seemed willing to take the boy for a ride during his stay.

At the shed, Thomas told Richard all about Christopher's stay on Sodor, the majority of the details being eerily similar to that of his father's own stories about his war-riddled childhood. Richard pondered over these words and contemplated the authenticity of it all.

"He wasn't anything like you," Thomas' tone went mean. "He was pure and innocent, and you look to me like a rebellion in the youth movement."

"Don't be such a square," Richard counteracted. "Rock groups like Chad or Jeremy or Beatles tell wiser tales than you or my dad."

"Well, maybe you should listen to them."

"I'm through with them, this life is better."

"Being away from the ones you love? If you really are Christopher's son, you would know better than to say those words."

"I am Christopher's son, but maybe he's not the same Christopher you remember."

Resignedly he turned in on the small bed to the right of Thomas. Percy, Toby and Daisy came in while Mavis went back to her own shed at the quarry, whistling "I hope you'll get to visit the Great Railway Show!"

"I don't get it," Percy said. "Why would he be so different compared to Christopher. I was always told that sons inherited many traits from their fathers."

"We live in a new age Percy," Toby explained. "It's called the youth culture."

"I could care less about one boy," said Daisy. "I just hope the Fat Controller will let me visit the show. Why if my fitter were here, he could practically bribe him—"

"Daisy, how can you be so callous?" Thomas called out. "Richard is proving to be a very pushy boy and we have to get him into understanding what it means to be responsible, reliable and really useful."

"Perhaps he could prepare us for the show."

Thomas was doubtful.

"I don't know, Percy. He might only know the basics or not at all."

Toby chipped in.

"My advice to you, Thomas, is to teach him discipline…with threats and taunts. I told all the lorries back on my old line that I was much better than them and they remained quiet until my last day."

"You mean reverse-psychology?"

"Indeed. The professors at Wisbech told many tales about this tactic. Ask Henrietta, she overhears a lot from her passengers."

Thomas thought it best to wait until morning.

Meanwhile at the lonely scrapyard in Barrow. Diesel, motionless and taciturn, lined up before the trucks. How he loathed these bothersome bollocks, as they reminded him of his first visit to Sodor. They sang rude songs and Duck the Great Western Engine proved to be of little help, which urged Diesel to spread a wicked plan to have every steam engine that went against him to be destroyed. But once the Fat Controller found out about his plan, he had learned this the hard way.

At last, he found his voice to the trucks.

"You are all little gits…"

But that didn't frighten the trucks even when Diesel five sets of each, forming a goods train of twenty five trucks. They were empty, of course, as Diesel wanted to prove a point to Splatter, Dodge and Paxton. Said three watched him from another siding.

"What do you think he plans to do?" asked Splatter.

"After making him feel doubtful," Dodge replied. "I think he's planning to be the strongest engine in the world."

"And if those trucks are heavy," Paxton said doubtfully. "I think we should give him a helping hand."

"We have hands?" Splatter took this too literally.

"Just an expression, Splatter," corrected Dodge. "The couplings act as our hands and so do our drivers."

"Strongest engine in the world indeed!" shouted a nearby Diesel 199. "Whatever you do, don't get me involved. Failing with that train of oil tankers is enough of a disgrace for me as it is."

D199's qualms proved to be true, for when Diesel was coupled up, his own driver hadn't noticed that the brakes were left on. The trucks knew this, but did not tell anyone but themselves. They taunted him as he tried to pull and push them.

"Push! Pull! You can go but we won't move!"

"SHUT UP OR I'LL KILL YOU!"

The truck's laughter was enough to make him lose his temper and he bumped them while reversing. Before he could try again, there came a pounding sound from the left of the train and the first truck attached to Diesel was sent flying. It crashed into the ground in smithereens, causing the other trucks to scream in terror like frail and weak women.

It was Diesel 10's claw.

"One more trick like that," he seethed to the trucks. "And you will wish that the whole lot of you had never been manufactured."

This gave Diesel the chance to pay them out. He gave a great push and the trucks went flying backwards into set of buffers, still shrieking as they bounced off the rails.

"Thank you, No. 10," Diesel calmed himself. "They were getting to be a bit of a bother."

"If anyone should take the blame," Diesel 10 aimed his claw at the three gronks. "Blame it on my imbeciles. If they knew better than to cross the line, our drivers will not be able to spare any expense for the damages done by Pinchy!"

"We'll deal with them later," Diesel smiled sinisterly. "Right now, I want to get out of this yard an onto our…secondary hideout."

Diesel 10 couldn't agree more. Gathering their diesel contingent, they slipped away to the Vicarstown Rolling Bridge.

Back in their hotel room, Christopher, Diana, Wilbert and the rest of the Awdry-Chambers-Fortnam party were sitting in silence. They had already read Richard's letter and soon they had plastered missing posters on different sections of the city. Very few had seen Richard since two nights ago, and those who did only saw him in passing. Had they had known who he was, they would have notified them. But with very little success, all Wilbert could do, in his position as a reverend was pray. Christopher looked out of the windows before going to bed and whispered silently to the rainy night sky.

"Good night, Richard, wherever you are…"


	6. Streamlining

_7:25 a.m., Friday, October 6_ _th_ _, 1967_

Rain pelted the windows. The hotel room looked bleak and depressing. The walls were covered in shadows of raindrops and so was the carpet and the bed.

Sitting on that bed was Verity, staring out at the window at the cars being drenched with rain, the trees blowing in the wind and the lampposts providing light against the extra darkness created by the clouds. Behind her, Wilbert stretched his arms and rubbed his chest through his nightgown.

"I swear, Verity," he said. "Barrow has not changed very much since your great-grandfather and I came here during the war."

"Which war?"

"The Great War."

Expecting a long-winded tale of his youth, Verity wished her grandfather would tell abridged versions of his stories, especially those about Sodor and it's engines. Then, to her surprise, Grandfather Wilbert left with Grandmother Margaret to get some breakfast downstairs. Verity gave him a sad smile and continued to stare out through the rain. Then, about five seconds later, the door opened again.

"You should have knocked," Verity reprimanded.

It was her cousin, Sara.

"Verity, are you upset?"

With her back to her cousin, Verity fluttered her eyelashes.

"Very."

"Are you crying?" Sara asked gently.

Verity shook her head lightly, but all Sara saw were her cousin's shoulders heave.

"Big girls don't cry."

"It's not your fault that Richard had to run away," Sara said as she sat down on the bed next to her. "We all tried to understand him, but I think he'll soon realize that you cannot run away from your troubles. He'll make it…wherever he is."

Verity nodded and replied.

"What if he doesn't?"

"Then that's up for the Holy Spirit to decide, or at least that's what Grandfather says."

Sara left the room to join her grandparents for breakfast, but Verity did not take her eyes off the window. On the street away from the hotel entrance, there was a boy and his father playing in the rain. Verity moved closer, making it easier to see him. It almost reminded her of Richard and her own father at that age. Smiling to herself, Verity finally moved away from the window and got dressed.

In their own room, Christopher also sat by the window. He had his own son in mind as he picked up the hotel phone and dialed the police station.

As he conversed with the constable on the other end, he too, was looking down at that same boy and his father playing in the rain. What a sad vacation this was turning out to be. It was just about as sad as his World War II childhood.

After making the call, Diana came out of the bathroom. She looked pale and her eyes were puffy.

"Anything?"

Christopher shook his head.

"Well, I called the police and they have properly acknowledged the missing posters, but they haven't seen Richard. The only thing interesting that they had to tell me was that a Great Western engine, an autocoach and a 'Toad' van that were labeled as scrap left this station two nights ago."

Diana sat down on the bed next to him.

"Did they say where they were taken to?"

Christopher's eyes looked out at the Vicarstown Rolling Bridge hiding out from the haze. Perhaps, at that moment, he was hit by an epiphany.

"You don't think Richard could have run away to Sodor, do you?"

Diana was unsure of this, but neither of them were away that they were right. And speaking of a certain Great Western Tank Engine with his trusty autocoach and faithful breakvan, he was in the Works with the Fat Controller.

"When you are mended," he said. "You can help Duck with his branch line. We'll give you Great Western colors like Duck. That will help you to forget your troubles."

"Oh, thank you!" said Oliver, happily.

Oliver soon met the other engines who came in preparation of the Great Railway Show. Gordon was already there, being fitted with the plates used to streamline regular engines into their new shape. On the other side was Percy, who was being decorated for the competition in beautiful golden streamers and red and blue ribbons reflecting the colors of the Union Jack. Also, on a track reserved for the Skarloey Railway engines, Skarloey himself came first, followed by Rheneas, Duncan and Peter Sam. Mike and Culdee, who also wanted some representation in the Great Railway Show, waited their turn.

"So?" Rheneas asked Richard who was nearby studying Gordon's streamlining process. "Do you think we qualify for the Great Railway Show?"

"Why do you ask?"

"Even us old engines need to prove their worth in these recent times," answered Skarloey.

Just then Sir Handel came and backed down on the engines. While his driver prepared to stop, he bumped into Peter Sam and he and the others slid down towards the buffers.

"How many times do we have to tell you?" Peter Sam yelled. "Don't come in too fast!"

"I was too excited!" Sir Handel defended himself.

Richard came aboard James. Thomas, who had taken the local, thought of a way to give the boy more experience on his father's engineering skills as other engines came as well, including Henry, Duck, Daisy and BoCo. Gordon, who had been there since yesterday, was impatient.

"I do wish we'd hurry up!" he complained. "The show starts tomorrow and at this rate, I am not going to be ready for the Great Railway Show."

"Streamlining a steam engine takes a long time, Gordon," said one of the workmen. "But so far we seem to be making an excellent amount of progress. In other words, a job being made quicker than expected. Quicker than any _small_ engines…"

It was then that Richard began to realize the full value of renovating a locomotive, his father's wisdom kicking into him. He pointed at Gordon and shook his right index finger.

"You wanna know somethin'? You are an extremely poor role model for these engines."

"I have always been told that bigger is better," Gordon huffed pompously. "That's logic."

"So did my father one time a group of kids told me I was too small for netball."

"Your father respected my size!" Gordon sneered, looking cocky and self-confident.

The entire Works, from engines and humans alike began to jeer.

"You are a scatologically fixated, psychotic and generally bossy engine!"

"Spoiled urchin!"

"Blue bastard!"

This caused everyone to gasp as the arguments continued. And then Richard said…

"Why don't you go suck on scrapped tender's waterpipe? Maybe you'll throw up boiler sludge."

Shouts of glee rose from the other engines as the men went back to work on the preparations. Richard's temper seemed to have cooled for a bit before he held up a 3/4s wrench and walked over to Gordon's wheels.

"Can I help in any way?" he asked the men.

"Sure," said one of them. "You help me bring over those plates for me."

The silver plates, used to create the streamlined exterior, lay in a pile nine feet away from Gordon. Even though they were heavy, Richard did not have to walk that far. He pulled one plate at a time, making sure that they weren't damaged the least bit by the falls. More construction on other areas of Gordon, including his tender followed as well and Richard spent the rest of his time painting the engines. He gave James some yellow and blue streaks in decorated styles and painted flowers of lilies on Percy. Henry received indigo colored tender shaped squares on his boiler with an emerald barrier around them, reminding him of the time he was painted blue for a short period.

Finally, it was Thomas' turn. Richard gave him lightning bolts on his left, Grand Prix racing strips on his right and a big red No. 1 on his forehead. Thomas' face was alive with joy as he was watching Richard painting the number. In his eyes, the boy transformed into Christopher for a brief six seconds before he went back to normal.

"What times," he whispered to himself. "What great times."

There were tears in his eyes.

Splatter and Dodge sat uncomfortably in the too small sheds of the Vicarstown Dieselworks. Several transactions between the diesel's drivers and the proprietors of the Dieselworks had turned it into a lair fit for Diesel 10 and his band of diesel engines. This was a pretty cruel idea, as Splatter had thought, that they had to share a sleeping space in a cramped pair of sheds. Diesel 10 was at his craftiest this very day. There was confidence that his plan could go off without a cinch, a benevolent look behind his true intentions. His hopes that the Fat Controller would scrap all of his steam engines and replace them with diesels was just about as devious as Double-D.

"Now, pay attention, my diesels in wheels—we have a lot to go over." A rejuvenated Diesel 10 raised his claw over the main building. "Why do you suppose the man they call Sir Topham Hatt loves steam engines?"

Paxton blew his horn at once. "Sir Topham Hatt loves steam engines because they came first!" he said defiantly. "As well as…preservation?"

"I do not think so," said Diesel 10. "I think Fat Hatt loves steam engines because he's old-fashion, vintage loving tosser! Why else do you think he wears a top hat and Victorian suit all day?"

Paxton looked over at Sidney. "Cause he likes old-fashioned clothes?"

Diesel 10 announced. "Like I said, he's a bloody tosser with his head stuck in the 19th century!"

Devious Diesel arrived with a set of loaders carrying large wooden crates. They were carried off by a crane within the main building and Diesel 10 turned one over with his claw.

"This will make you look like a truck!"

Sidney enjoyed disguises, but Diesel enjoyed them more. The blue diesel asked.

"What? A goods truck?"

Diesel 10 and Devious Diesel locked their eyes together.

"Right! And Double D here is going to pull you."

"How would he be able to pull me?" Sidney asked dumbfoundedly.

"Are you that retarded?" Arry and Bert chuckled naughtily. "You're going to be a part of either Diesel's train! In case you have not forgotten…"

Abruptly, Diesel 10 faced Ulli.

"Ulli, do you think would do your race proud by masquerading as one of my trucks?"

Ulli thought it over. Suddenly, Den, Dart and Dennis were covered by the empty crates. The cranes had lowered them onto the three diesels while they were on the elevated turntable. Panicking, they ran into the flatbeds.

"Help!" they shouted. "We can't see anything!"

"Don't be so impatient!" Diesel 10's claw snapped. "Wait until I've properly arraigned everything!" To Diesel he growled. "Get them ready!"

Diesel went out of No. 10's way and pushed Dennis, Dart and Den into the flatbeds, his own driver coupling them up. He could still hear Dart shouting: "Where are you taking us? You must know what Diesel 10 is planning!"

"Do we?" asked Den to Dart.

"I'm trying to remember!" Dart exclaimed.

Diesel just groaned.

"Don't the three of you even remember _anything?_ "

"Only if it is that important," Dennis replied from beneath the crates.

Neither Splatter, nor Dodge, looked comfortable with the situation and squirmed at the idea being inside those boxes, which looked smaller than the sheds.

A little while later, at the yards in Vicarstown, Thomas and Edward went to practice their shunting for the show. They had taken Richard along with them to show him more of the island as well as helping him with the mathematics and fun of shunting. He would also be there to serve an opinion on their efforts. On a siding close to them, the disguised diesels waited for their cue.

"I wonder who's going to remove those trucks," Thomas thought to himself.

And he went over, leaving Edward and Richard alone. For a moment, neither spoke. Then Edward said.

"I was thinking, Richard. Before your father came here, your grandfather Wilbert arrived here with me and Thomas during the First World War. Did he ever tell you that?"

Richard nodded.

"He told me stories about you and when he recounted his childhood during all that time I thought, that's just the way a five-year-old thinks, doesn't it?"

"Yes it does. His time here was also very short."

Then Edward took a sign breath, adding.

"Do you remember what it was like for you as a child around Wilbert's age?"

"I wish I could know, it's very difficult. I can only say that the general idea of it all was that I was very innocent."

When Thomas coupled himself to the trucks, he blew a cheery toot. But inside, he was unaware of the three other diesels who heard it.

"That must be Diesel 10's signal," Dennis whispered to Den and Dart.

"I didn't know Diesel 10 had a whistle," Dart said to Den.

"Maybe it just sounds like a whistle under here," Den replied. "Let's start pushing!"

And when they reversed, Thomas shot forwards, completely out his driver's control.

"Cinders and ashes!" cried Thomas. "Either these trucks are a lot lighter than they look, or they are MOVING BY THEMSELVES!"

It seemed almost convenient that the Fat Controller had to be there. He saw Thomas "pulling" the trucks all the way to the border of the yard and considered a possibility of putting him into the show's shunting challenge.

"I knew he was good for shunting, but I never knew he was so strong," he thought.

Fortunately a red signal brought the train to a halt, and Thomas, who had been whistling for a runaway siding, applied his brakes and the diesels followed suit with their own. Thomas was instantly de-coupled from the trucks and went back to Richard, while Derek, who had been sent to keep a close eye on the three, quietly bought them back to the Dieselworks.

Diesel 10 was furious when Den, Dart and Dennis told him about their mistake. His claw snapping furiously as he berated them.

"You should have known that it was a steam engine's whistle and that a steamie was pulling you and not me or Double-D."

Devious Diesel joined in by blowing his horn.

"DOES THAT SOUND LIKE A STEAMIE'S WHISTLE TO YOU?! HUH!?"

Dart tried to defend himself.

"It is very hard to hear when you're underneath a crate. I mean, Dennis could have nearly fallen asleep considering how lazy he is."

But Diesel 10 could care less about Dennis' laziness.

"I DON'T GIVE A DAMN ABOUT ANY EXCUSES!"

And his claw began to snap wildly until it hit the wall hard. It was nearly dislocated and hung limp.

"SEE WHAT YOU MADE ME DO?!"

"It's not our fault!" Dart reasoned. "It was your claw…"

"Which needs to be repaired!"

The drivers placed the pincers of Diesel 10's claw on a flatbed which had been unknowingly shunted by Arry and Bert onto a train of materials to be taken to the show.

Between Thomas' shed and the hotel, Richard and his family looked towards the sky in sadness. They both knew the great lengths of how much they missed each other. To Christopher, his brave, yet recklessly skeptic son was gone, far away on an island of talking engines, but he had his doubts. There would be no way of telling where Richard had gone to until tomorrow.


	7. Back to the Mainland

_6:54 a.m., Saturday, October 7_ _th_ _, 1967_

The day of the Great Railway Show had arrived. The sky was clearing up, the dawn was blue and Thomas was looking forward to attending. Richard, who had spent half the night whispering good nights to his distant father and family, was exhausted and he struggled to his feet as he yawned and stretched, throwing his left cheek against Thomas' side tank.

"Come on, Richard!" the tank engine whistled. "Today's the day! The sun is shining, the air is clean and we are going to the Great Railway Show!"

Richard, upon hearing this, replied.

"Do you think you could take me home?"

"Consider it as your reward for helping us, but right now, we've got a show to attend to."

And so they sped off to the Works. There, they saw Gordon, puffing out of his berth like the proud engine that he was, in all his streamlining glory. He even had a red star on both sides of his front.

"Hello, world! Here comes the Shooting Star!"

"You look amazing, Gordon!" said Percy who had been assigned to carry the flag of Sodor.

"Couldn't agree more," added James who was feeling a little green on the inside.

"You look even more different from the time I was rebuilt!" appraised Henry.

"Just wait until all those other competitors see me!"

Gordon sniffed proudly as he said this. After Thomas got out of his way, the Fat Director spoke to him.

"Thomas, you'll be in charge of taking some extra supplies to the show. We may need them in case one of our engines needs a last-minute repair. The trucks will also be used for the shunting challenge."

"Yes, sir!" Thomas whistled and they started off to Vicarstown. As they chuffed off to the yard outside the under-construction Dieselworks, Richard began to wonder, reflecting back to the many awful things he told his parents and the rest of his family throughout the 15 years of his life. Perhaps, as his reward for helping the engines during his short visit, Thomas would bring him back to his family, just as he had done for his own father, twenty-seven years ago.

Splatter and Dodge knew that the Great Railway Show would be like a carnival. They rolled out of the shed, feeling bright and early, going over to see Diesel 10, who had been neutered of his claw that was lying on a flatbed connected to the train of extra supplies that Thomas was supposed to take to the show.

"Even without Pinchy, I'll still be able to make a surprise appearance at the show and prove my strength to all the other diesels who dared to cross the line with me!"

"Let me guess," Devious Diesel assumed. "You are still willing to pull a heavy train with Den, Dart and Dennis inside the crates, and then everything afterwards will be fine and dandy for the rest of our lives?"

"I'm glad you remembered," Diesel 10 smiled.

Titillated, the diesels followed their leader to the gates of the Dieselworks and to the yards at Vicarstown to see Thomas collecting the trucks with Richard onboard. The claw was lying on a flatbed close where the other trucks needed for the show were. Thomas caught Diesel 10's attention and he perked up a toothy crocodile grin.

"That little blue one seems to be a perfect target for the start our little holocaust. Look at his number; it means that he will be the first on our list after we have won the show."

Then came the most unimaginable thing that Diesel 10 had expected the least: Thomas had coupling up some of his own trucks, to the one connected to the flatbed carrying Diesel 10's claw. Before the workmen had realized their mistake, Thomas was already out of the yard, heading to the open good yard of Bridlington where the show would take place.

"Look out, Great Railway Show!" Thomas whistled. "Here we come!"

But Diesel 10, was not about to let his claw get out of sight. He barked to his fellow diesels.

"Splatter! Dodge! Double-D! Get my claw back!"

The three went first, followed by Arry, Bert and Paxton, who shouted back.

"Come on, Sidney! Follow that puffball!"

Sidney and Ulli were the last to leave.

Diesel 10's smile broadened appreciably as Den, Dart, Dennis and Derek came up to flank him. Things would fall apart if the diesels exposed themselves too soon.

As they passed the Vicarstown Rolling Bridge, travelling onto the Other Railway, Richard looked out at the town of Barrow. To him it felt like a decade had passed since he last saw the town and he could only wonder what lay ahead once he got to the show. He wanted Thomas to stop so he could find his family, but work came first. All he had to do was wait.

As for his family, Christopher and Diana were walking through the door, putting up some extra poster when they heard a familiar whistle that was used for alerting signalmen. But this whistle, wafting on the daylight air, carried on the wind like an old memory from twenty-two years ago.

Christopher's face beamed.

"Thomas…"

He ran over to the station and by the time they got there, Thomas had disappeared with his train. Christopher was certain that he could have seen his son's face staring out of the blue engine's cab when along came the gronks, led by Double-D.

"Is that Devious Diesel?" asked Diana, recognizing him from Wilbert's books.

Diesel paid the couple no notice. He was turning his eyes back over to the lagging Splatter and Dodge.

"Hurry up, you tossers!"

"Who's the tosser?" Splatter asked Dodge.

"You are," Dodge replied. "Now shut up and roll."

"Can't we go any faster?" Arry asked Bert. "We don't want to upset the boss."

Seeing them leave, Christopher and Diana rushed back to inform the others at the hotel. In their room, where the whole family had been gathering Christopher gave them the great news. He did not know whether to be thrilled or terrified.

"I think we may have found Richard."

"Where?" Wilbert was the first to ask.

"Aboard Thomas."

"Thomas?" asked the rest of the family in unison.

Christopher gazed at the rest of his family.

"I know because I am certain that he ran away to the Island of Sodor and Thomas decided to take him back…unless, he is going someplace else."

Wilbert remembered looking at an article for any train related event to keep his mind off of unpleasant matters. He gave his answer to Christopher.

"There is talk of a Great Railway Show taking place today in Bridlington. I was hoping we would go there, but now it seems like my wish has come true."

"You think Richard will be there?" Margaret asked from her chair.

"If I know Richard, he would go there. We can take the nine o'clock train and be there by eight thirty."

So the family packed it up and set off for the Great Railway Show.


	8. The Great Railway Show

After travelling for an hour, Thomas came to the station at Manchester Piccadilly to take on water. They had heard from some passengers nearby that the Great Railway Show was already in progress with its preparations of arriving engines who were to take place in the competition. Richard checked the time on the station clock and he figured by some wild estimate that they would arrive in Bridlington by noon if they started now. With Thomas' tank close to being full, he got out of the cab and walked up to the tank engine asking.

"I was wondering…when we get back, will you drop me off at Barrow so I can tell my family where I was?"

"I suppose," said Thomas mutually. "But I have a feeling that, given Christopher and Wilbert's interest in railways, they might be heading to the Great Railway Show already."

"And if they aren't?"

"Then perhaps you'll have to be brave and keep on hoping that you will see them again."

These words struck a never in Richard's memories of the times he argued with his family. The pain in his heartache had grown worse since the actual length of time he had spent on the island.

Shortly after Richard returned to the cab, Thomas' driver removed the water tower's pipe from the side tank and off they chuffed to resume the journey.

Meanwhile, the gronks were have trouble catching up. Their drivers were growing impatient and their wheels were at the point of aching from going at such a mileage. Dodge had the nerve to ask:

"Arry, where are we? We've been going after that blue puffball for an hour or two. Could we at least stop and ask for directions?"

Arry kept on going like a trooper.

"I'm sure we're fine. If I recall, the last station was either Carnforth or Lancaster."

His driver said to him.

"I thought it was Lancaster as well, I'll check the map."

Arry's driver often used a map of the United Kingdom to plan his next holiday spot. He always carried it on his person, taking it off when at home or in Arry's cab. Now it seemed like the map could be used for a third purpose, like the more important one of tracking the locations of theirs and a tank engine pulling stolen goods. He plastered it against the wall and pinpointed their current position.

"Looks like we passed Lancaster some twenty minutes ago."

They still had a long way left.

Meanwhile on their own train, the Awdry family thought of various ways of making up to Richard. A simple "I'm sorry" was something left to be desired and a hug seemed too easy to break out of. Wilbert considering giving Christopher a lengthy speech.

"Should I write it down?" he asked his father.

"If you want to. But it can also be genuine if you spoke from the heart."

"He's your grandson, you should speak to him."

"And you're his father, not the head of a sanitorium. You should let him believe in what he wants to believe."

"Haven't I tried many times to convince him that your stories are true?"

"As did I. But we both know what really happened twenty-seven years ago."

So while Christopher and Wilbert discussed the possible outcome of what they would say to Richard when they next met, Thomas was continuing on his way to the show. Richard, watching the scenery change from the safety of the cab, knew that he had to confess up to his father as well.

"Forgive me, Dad," he said to the open air.

As they neared York, they could see the old barracks that were the home of the King's Own Yorkshire Light Infantry. Thomas recognized it, but to Richard, it looked almost foreign, as he had never been to this city before, only knowing about it through reputation.

"I've been here once," said Thomas as kept his eyes on the track. "With your mother and father."

Richard heard this.

"When?" he asked.

"Twenty-seven years ago. Your father was sad and all he wanted was to see your grandfather again…and when he did, he learned that it was better to be really useful besides cry. Your grandfather talked him into it."

"And you think that could happen with me?"

"I can only hope it will."

The Great Railway Show was set in a large yard of elevated land, with a large turntable, numerous points and sidings, elevated track and an outside loop of rails used for testing an engine's maximum speed. Throngs of people, including Bridlington's town mayor and reporters from all over the world, surrounded Gordon as he arrived alongside Flying Scotsman. The big green A3 was surprised.

"I say, Gordon! You look different."

Gordon blushed as cameras flashed and bands played instrumental versions of "The Battle Fought on the Shields Railway".

"Well, brother, it seems not every engine has to be the way he was meant to be built. I am now the Shooting Star! A design taken from Raymond Lowery thirty years ago when he streamlined one of his engines. He called it the _Torpedo_. If I can be as fast as a torpedo, no one will even dare to scrap us after I win the race."

"Actually," said Flying Scotsman, doubtfully. "That train has already left the station."

Gordon didn't understand this expression, he began to ponder the meaning of the words.

The other engines were amazed and bedazzled by all of the foreign engines in different shapes and colors. A few denizens of Sodor, including Mrs. Kyndley, were put in charge of more casual positions, like handing out refreshments. Even Percy seemed impressed.

"And yet," he was saying to himself. "The only engines present here that are around my size are mostly diesel shunters."

When he approached a red Class 08 that had his back to Percy's front, Percy immediately gave a quick "Excuse me" and the shunter pardoned himself by purring out of the way.

Next, James came alongside a Belgian SNCB Type 12 named Axel. Axel was red with yellow stripes, matching the colors of his native land's flag.

"So tell me, monsieur," James tried to impress him. "Have you pulled any special trains in your country?"

"I have mostly pulled boat trains from Paris to Cherbourg, as well as some back in Belgium: Antwerp, Brussels, Ostend and Ghent. What type of trains do you pull?"

"I am a mixed-traffic engine, though I'd rather take coaches instead of trucks. I don't want my paint ruined and I have had a lot of trouble with them."

"I can see why," sympathized Axel. "But I when I was first built Europe was on the edge of war. My director ordered me to pull goods, mostly rations and bombs, ammunitions as well as soldiers from Forces Belges Libres, if you count them as goods. In my opinion, resuming my normal duties of carrying passengers onto boats was well-earned."

"I remember the war," said James with poison in his mouth. "I lost my brother, I was painted black and I had to pull more goods trains than passengers except for the time I got my own limited service. I even had a private coach fit for Dame May Whitty when she visited the island."

"I assume it was wonderful."

"It was even MORE wonderful when the war ended and I got my _proper_ paintwork back. No more planes, no more bombs, no more death, no more trucks at the most, no more wearing black, no more destruction…all peace."

"I agree, but sometimes fulfilling your honor and duty is more important than color or how you wear. Why in America, people who are of black and white skin are accepting each other in spite of their differences. It's called integration."

"Well I think 'intergrating' among engines should be limited. I never want to mingle with any diesels after I sent one who came creeping into our yard packing."

Of course, as all of this was entirely untrue, not all diesels were against steam. James did warm up to BoCo and Daisy after getting to know them better, especially since the time he had become a temporary beehive for escaped bees.

Next, Henry pulled up alongside a strong Chinese engine named Yong Bao. He was red and decorated with yellow stripes and dragons.

"How do you do, fellow engine?" asked Henry.

"Fine, thank you," replied Yong Bao in an Asiatic accent. "The trip from Beijing was long by boat. I had to share it with a Japanese engine from Minato who pulled aeroplane parts during the war."

"Was this before or after Pearl Harbor?"

"After. The Imperial Army Air Service only recruited his needs to take aeroplane parts that were damaged to other facilities that could repair them just as easily as the mechanics at Mitsubishi."

He looked over to the black tender engine on the next track.

"His name's Hiro. He calls himself the master of his own railway, but then again, our neighbors have always been very proud of their traditional."

"As much as you?" Henry asked.

"Our traditions are similar, but also different," explained Yong Bao. "If you were Chinese, you would not appreciate their occupation of Shanghai twenty-six years ago."

"That's all in the past, Yong Bao," Henry sympathized. "Your words would make more sense if that was happening today."

"I stand corrected," Yong Bao smiled.

Edward came into close contact with a stylishly green Italian engine named Gina. She could match her male peers pound for pound whenever it came shunting trucks.

"I'm an old engine," she said to Edward. "Much older than you. But I still have enough puff to be the fastest shunter back home in Milano. My controller was very close to Mussolini back in '43 and it appears that his traces of fascism have not yet left him, for he has had my fellow siblings withdrawn from service."

"Such a shame," said Edward sadly. "Do you think they'll be scrapped?"

"The controllers of Milano Cadorna are thinking about it, but they also agree we belong in a museum or a private railway where we can still be useful. Like your island."

"You think it's a perfect safe haven for steam engines? I agree with you, _signorina._ "

"The great Couillet would think of engines like you as the most reliable, and the most agreeable, as we all deserve a place in history, including our own."

At last, Thomas arrived. He eased through the yard as he took in the vast atmosphere of it all.

"It's even bigger that I thought it would be!" he cried.

Even Richard had to agree.

"Definitely. I'll bet this place is a lot bigger than the station at Birmingham."

Thomas placed the trucks on a siding close to where the others were to be used for the shunting challenge, then he and Richard went to find a spot where they could watch the tournament.

In the shunting challenge, Henry took the lead in pulling a heavy flatbed of stone bricks, while a Canadian engine from Grand Trunk Rail named Vinnie went in second with his load of concrete. Shane, an Australian streamliner; Belle, a post-Reich German engine colored in blue and Hiro were following behind with the same loads. Yet despite the cheers of Thomas and Richard, Henry was coming in second whilst Vinnie slowly overtook him, so he pulled and pulled until his cheeks went red. Eventually, his buffers were in perfect alignment with Vinnie's and when the racers got to the end of the line, the position of their buffers moved up and down thrice before going back into a perfect alignment again. It was a tie.

Next, James was fifth in line to a parade for the best dressed engines, the other four being the preserved No. 1 Stirling Single, a one hundred and twelve-year-old Indian engine named Rajiv, Yong Bao, a steam engine from Mexico named Carlos and the leader of the parade was none other than Stephenson's Rocket, pulling an open roofed carriage with Bridlington Excelsior and Hull Railwaymen's onboard playing Sgt. Pepper's Lonely Hearts Club Band. Percy, who was sixth in line, thought that being in the back was a burden.

"Now this is definitely fitting!" James whispered to himself. "To show off my paintwork to all these people…"

James, however, won a blue ribbon, while the actual award went to Rajiv.

"Not what I had in mind," he said to his crew. "But at least it adds more to my livery."

Two minutes later, the Awdrys arrived just in time to hear the announcement from a man telling everybody that the race would begin shortly.

Thomas joined Percy and Henry at a siding where they could watch the start of the race. Skarloey, Mike and Culdee, watching from their respective flatbeds, found it dull as they had nothing else to do but watch. It was a wonder they even came in the first place.

"Who do you think will win?" Percy asked him.

"My money's on Flying Scotsman," Richard said to the little green tank engine.

"Or that Axel fellow," said Henry. "I hear he the fastest engine in all of Belgium!"

"I think it's fair for Gordon to win this," answered Thomas. "That streamlining job should do him good."

Henry looked over to him.

"Actually, I think he calls himself…the Falling Star?"

"I thought it was Shooting Star," Percy corrected (somewhat).

Gordon, standing next to Flying Scotsman, along with his cousin Silver Link, Green Arrow, Axel, the Duchess of Hamilton and an electric engine from Paris named Etienne, was ready to go. The guard blew his whistle waved his green flag and faster before you could say "They are off!"…they were off.

From their seats, Wilbert tried to look for Thomas, but a streak of blue caught his attention. The harder he squinted, the more noticeable the shape had become. Then Christopher saw it too and recognized the face.

"Gordon?" they asked in unison.

Gordon, or the Shooting Star as he now preferred to be, was having too much fun outshining the other competitors. He whooshed past Axel and Silver Link, urging himself to meet his date with destiny. All Green Arrow could see was a blue racing streak and when he passed Etienne and the Duchess of Hamilton, Gordon was getting closer and closer to Flying Scotsman. At the approach to the finish line, Gordon was within fifteen feet away from his brother and he was grinning at the thought of victory just a half-mile away from him.

Without even noticing that he had gone underneath the sign above him, Gordon had won the race. The crowd cheered long and loud and the rest of the Awdrys could now get a better look at the proud, blue engine as he slowed to a stop.

By the time the gronks arrived, the shunting challenge was up next. Diesel was determined to find No. 10's claw, but Splatter, Dodge, Arry and Bert were exhausted. The others, however, wanted to explore the show.

With all the different trucks all over the yard, it was as tantamount as finding a needle in a haystack. Diesel kept his eyes sharp of any sign for a mechanical arm with a sharp daggered claw for a hand. Just when it looked like he had found it, Percy was puffing off, taking them to Thomas.

"Come back here, you little green git!" Diesel shouted.

But his shouts were drowned out by the sounds of cheers from the crowd who anxiously expected the shunting challenge. Percy, not hearing even a muffle of his words, proceeded into the yard.

"Here are your trucks, Thomas, are you ready to win that trophy?"

"Sure am, Percy! I can do anything if I put my mind to it! All you have to do is be who you are—"

"Save the speech for when we get that trophy, Thomas," said Richard. "We have a competition to win."

"Right!" Thomas answered. "And you're going to drive me."

"I can't possibly drive!" Richard protested. "We might lose!"

"We can't lose! If you really are Christopher's son, in both heart and soul, you would know what to do."

Richard knew, that in his heart, he could make a difference if he matured, even if just a little as his parents would have wanted him to be. Taking a deep breath, he pushed the regulator forward and Thomas eased his way to the starting line, pushing his trucks a grand twenty-five feet away from him before coming back to his competitors.

The other engines who were participating in this event were Gina, an engine from India named Ashima who was well-known for pulling the Sultan's private coach, an old Brazilian diesel shunter named Raul from the São Paulo Railway and a new diesel from the Soviet Union named Ivan. They were all lined up at the starting gate, waiting for the whistle to blow and when it did blow, Richard knew he had no time to cool; he had to start Thomas as quickly as he could.

Once Thomas had started, the first trucks he had aimed for were the flatbeds of his train. This was followed by a van while Ashima took another one. Then Raul aimed towards a fuel tanker and Gina caught another one.

"Points!" shouted Raul to the signal tower above him.

The signalman obeyed and Raul was now on a track leading towards an empty flatbed. Thomas took the next one, then a tanker, then a van, then a coal truck. With Richard acting as his hands, the amount of teamwork had resulted in the both of them creating a long line of fifteen trucks.

Wilbert and Christopher, along with the rest of the family, watched Thomas make his way backwards and forwards against his competitors.

"I remember when we used to shunt those trucks about," Christopher said to his father. "It was the most fun I ever had since you went away."

The engines of Sodor cheered on for Thomas and Richard.

But when Thomas got the brake van needed to win, Diesel recognized the claw on his siding and rushed into the fray. He zoomed after Thomas, but Thomas was much to fast for a gronk and before he even realized it, Thomas and Richard were the winners.

Defeated, Diesel purred away to hide. He and the others would receive the claw later.

Throngs of people gathered to get a closer look at the winners before a police cordon showed up to keep the crowd under control and when the Awdrys came to it, Wilbert asked the constable's permission if they could enter, telling him that Richard was his grandson. But he did not have to sneak by, for at that moment, Richard, who was smiling for the crowd, could have sworn to see two familiar faces, and then another. Then the faces were clear enough for him to realize that these faces were his own flesh and blood.

"Dad! Grandfather!" he called, jumping from Thomas' cab.

Christopher heard a smidge of his son's voice over the din, then he saw him coming out of Thomas cab…right into his arms.

"Dad," he tried to make his words loud and clear over the dying cheers. "If you and Mum punish me for running away, I promise that I will never do it again."

"It doesn't matter now," Christopher told him. "All that matters is that we found you."

And Thomas' eyes found Christopher as well. All that sadness that had been occupying his boiler for the past twenty-seven years seemed to have been expunged from his mind and disappeared into nothingness.

"Christopher!"

He blew his whistle above the crowd and all of the Awdry family looked to see that famous tank engine standing proudly as his whistling ran down. Christopher, out of everyone else, saw Thomas with hard eyes of realization. There were even tears leaking down his face. He ran over to his beloved friend and hugged his face harder than he had ever done as a child.

"I'm back, Thomas," he whispered.

"And you've grown up quite a lot!" Thomas replied, closing his eyes to feel the warmth of his long-lost friend.

But Christopher was more than a friend, he was a legend in his eyes, along with Wilbert and Richard who helped bring recognition and a stable historical importance to the Island of Sodor. The strong friendship of a boy and a tank engine seemed a lot stronger than anything a Nazi, a Soviet or even a diesel engine could throw at them.

"How was my son?" Christopher asked after his arms parted.

"Let's just say he was a little like you," Thomas answered.

Photographers captured this moment of emotion, eager to learn more about what went behind the scenes of that embrace. To them, it was a neo-revival of the soldier kissing his girlfriend in Times Square on Victory Day.

At the ceremony later that afternoon, Thomas and his crew received a gold cup trophy and the Fat Controller came to congratulate them personally.

"I didn't even know about your participation until after the shunting challenge started, but I must say that you have proven yourself to be very competent and still my number one engine."

Even better, the Fat Controller was formally reunited with the entire Awdry family and decided to invite them to find work on his railway.

"Wilbert," he said, "your stories have been read to every school and library on our island. I would like you to narrate them personally at any time you feel like it. Diana, you will be the chief engineer. Christopher and Richard, you will be the chief dreamers. As for you're the rest of your family, I'm sure you will all find a place…somehow."

Wilbert chucked at this notion.

"Your intentions are very charitable, but considering we already have our own jobs and a place to call home, consider us to be your chief visitors. Perhaps, with every summer that passes, we can accept your offers."

Everyone else agreed.

Hardly anyone else, saw Diesel leaving with the flatbed carrying No. 10's claw. The other diesels, however, did and returned to Sodor, relieved over finding it and hoping that Diesel 10 would be very pleased.

Five hours later, the Awdrys, accompanied by the engines of Sodor, rode their way back to the island on a different track. From Thomas' cab, Wilbert, Christopher and Richard watched the beauty of the moving landscape pass them by. They smiled proudly in that moment, knowing very well that their legacy, connected with Sodor would last for many years.


	9. Oliver the Western Engine

_8:14 a.m., Friday, November 15_ _th_ _, 1968_

Wilbert was still pondering over the Fat Controller's offer when everyone got back from the Great Railway Show, but Richard was most looking forward to seeing Oliver again. Christopher had begun to see that because they were both runaways, their relationship was just as strong as him and Thomas'.

So with Richard's schoolmaster's permission, they went back to Sodor, telling him that Richard would continue his studies there and when they arrived at Tidmouth via Bear, there were Oliver and Isabel, standing out in their shining Great Western colours.

"Hullo again!" Oliver whistled to Richard.

"Hullo to you," Richard smiled. "It's been a year, hasn't it?"

"Yes!" replied Isabel. "You should see our Branch, Richard! It is beautiful!"

Duck's Branch starts from Tidmouth. When Oliver started work, he often met other engines there. They were glad to see Christopher and Richard again and all wanted to know about Oliver's adventures.

"Amazing!" Henry remarked.

"Oliver," said James, "has resource . . . "

" . . . and sagacity," put in Gordon. "He is an example to us all."

"What does that mean?" asked Percy.

"I think," replied Thomas. "It means that Oliver is clever and wise"

"You're too kind," giggled Oliver modestly. But he was only a tank engine after all. No big engine had ever said admiring things to him before and I'm sorry to say that it made him puffed up in the smokebox.

With Christopher and Richard onboard her, Dulcie trundled along with Isabel as Oliver sang.

" _Oh Isabel's a funny coach and so is Dulcie too. If I didn't look after them, they'd not know what to do!_ "

"Just listen to him. Just listen to him," twittered Dulcie.

"He's proud, he's conceited; he's heading for trouble," Isabel sadly replied. "I feel it in my frames," she shrieked as they rounded a curve.

Oliver just laughed. "Henry says I'm amazing. He's right. What do I care for trouble. I just push it aside."

Christopher, remembering his own experience, warned Oliver.

"All trucks are badly behaved, but ballast trucks are worst of all."

Donald, Douglas, and Duck also warned Oliver about this.

"You think I can't manage," he said huffily. "Gordon knows better. He says I'm sagacious."

"You may be 'good gracious', but . . ."

"Say no more, Duck. It's mebbe a peety, but the wee engine'll juist ha ta learrn."

Today, Oliver took the trucks by himself for the first time, while Christopher introduced Richard to Mike, Rex and Bert. There they watched Oliver demonstrate his way of loading the trucks.

He pulled loaded ones to a siding and pushed "empties" to the Chute. Then he came back full of confidence to take the loaded ones away.

The loaded trucks were complacent, warm and comfortable, and didn't want to move. They had just realized, too, that they had a different engine.

"Duck, we know," they grumbled, "and Donald and Douglas. What right has Oliver to poke his funnel in here? We want them instead!"

"Look sharp!" puffed Oliver. "Smartly there!"

"That's not the way to speak! Pay him out!" The trucks moved off easily, and Oliver thought he had them in control.

"Trucks," he told himself proudly, "daren't play tricks on ME! I'll arrange them on the middle road, and start away as soon as Duck arrives. I can't understand why he says they're so troublesome."

They reached the station throat puffing backwards. Oliver's brakes came on with a groan. But brakes were useless against loaded surging trucks. They pushed forward yelling, "ON! ON! ON! ON! ON! ON! ON! ON! ON!"

Oliver fought hard, but still they forced him on, and on, and on, and on, and on, and on.

Their effort slackened after a half a minute.

"I'm winning," he gasped. "If only . . ."

But it was too late. One moment his rear wheels were on the rails; the next, they had none, and he was bunker down in the turntable well, with a deluge of ballast all round him.

When Duck arrived, he was stopped outside the station, and flagged to the platform.

He surveyed the wreckage. "Hullo Oliver!" he remarked. "Are you being a 'good gracious' engine? Beg pardon, of course, but we don't really like that sort of surprise. Donald and Douglas will miss their turntable."

Later that day, Donald and Douglas spoke pungently in Scots, and the Fat Controller spoke pointedly in English. All three left Oliver in no doubt, that so far from being sagacious, he was a very silly engine.

But Richard came to see Oliver when he was gently lifted out of the turntable by Judy and Jerome the old breakdown cranes.

"I should have listened to Duck's advice," said Oliver. "I don't feel sagacious anymore I just feel silly."

"Well at least you now know the damage trucks can do," Richard replied.

"Yes, I do," groaned Oliver. "I look like a load of scrap iron."

"I don't think so," Richard smiled. "But I do agree with the Fat Controller that you do need to go to the Works."

Duck felt sorry for Oliver. When he was loaded onto Douglas' train, he said.

"The branch line won't be the same without you."

Before Oliver could reply, Douglas was hauling out of the yard and all he could hear from Duck was…

"Come back soon!"

Three days later, Oliver did come back, his coat gleaming brighter than ever. He was a wiser engine, too, and he never made a mistake about trucks again.

"I'd rather not use them," he uttered doubtfully to himself.

But the trucks sang rude songs about the incident. They were led by Scruffey, a "Private Owner" wagon.

" _Oliver's no use at all; thinks he's very clever._

 _Says that he can manage us; that's the best joke ever!_

 _When he orders us about, with the greatest folly,_

 _We just push him down the well._

 _Pop - goes Old Ollie!_ "

Duck, Donald and Douglas were shocked and they bumped them hard. "SHUT YOUR DAMNED MOUTHS!" they ordered. But they couldn't be everywhere; and everywhere they weren't, the trucks began again.

At last they gave it up.

"We're sorry, Oliver," they said.

"It's really my fault," he answered sadly. "I should have been more careful the other day."

Toad, Isabel, Christopher and Richard felt sorry for Oliver too.

"I'm worried, Mr. Douglas," said Toad next morning. "This nasty spirit of disrespect for engines. Where's it going to end?"

"Dear knaws," said Douglas gloomly.

"It must be stopped before it gets worse. I believe Mr. Oliver can do it."

"Mebbe so, but how?"

"I've a plan, Mr. Douglas. May I stay here and help him? We are both Great Western and must stand together. Would you ask him, before you go, to favor me with a word?"

"I'll take ye to him; but he's ower sma' for the wurry ye ha in mind."

Soon, Toad was explaining his plan to Richard, Christopher, Oliver and Duck.

"Even I wouldn't go that far," Christopher crossed his arms.

"I don't think Toad should even suggest such a thing to Oliver," said Duck.

But Oliver found his voice.

". . . No, Duck. Toad's right. This trouble's my fault, and I must put it right."

"I meant no disrespect, you understand."

"Of course not, Toad. Anyway, Driver says the same, and he's arranged it with Stationmaster."

"Very well, Oliver; but I must hurry. My passengers'll be waiting. Richard, Christopher, you'll come with me and watch. And don't forget Stepney's tip about sand. Lay it on the rails as you back down, and roll it firm with your wheels. You get a splendid grip that way. Good luck! We'll be there to cheer you on while you give those trucks a lesson."

"So long!" smiled Oliver bravely; but he felt dreadfully nervous inside.

"I expect, Mr. Oliver, you'll want me on the middle road as a stop-block, like."

"Er - yes, please."

Oliver marshalled the worst trucks two by two in front of Toad. When he had Fred Pelhay and Rickety at the front of his train, Richard came over and asked Toad for further details about his plan.

"It's a brilliant plan, Master Richard. This way, Mr. Oliver takes longer, but they can't give trouble, and if he leaves that Scruffey till last, he'll have him behind him. Then he can bump him if he starts his nonsense."

Duck arrived to find them ready and waiting while Richard went back to rejoin his father on the platform.

"Three cheers for Oliver and Toad!" the trio called. Alice, Isabel and Mirabel responded with a will, and so, wonderingly, did the passengers. The Small Railway Engines watched as well from their sidings.

"Hold back!" whispered Scruffey. The trucks giggled as they passed the word.

But Oliver knew what to do, he dug his wheels into the sand, and gave a mighty heave.

"Ooer!" groaned Scruffey. His couplings tightened. He was stretched between Oliver and the trucks. "I don't like this!"

"Go it!" yelled Duck. "Well done, boy, WELL DONE!"

"Come on, Oliver!" shouted Richard. "PULL HIS A—er, sorry, Dad."

"OW! YOU'RE HURTING ME!" whined Scruffey, but no-one bothered about him. They knew he was getting his just desserts.

"OW! OOOOOW! THE PAINNN! I can't take it anymore! I'm coming apaaaaaart!"

Oliver shot forward suddenly. Scruffey's front end bumped behind his bunker, while Scruffey's load spread itself over the tracks and his entire body collapsed into a heap. Richard laughed and cheered, but it stopped when he saw the Fat Controller approaching Oliver.

"Well, Oliver, so you don't know your own strength! Is that it?"

"N-n-no, Sir," said Oliver nervously.

The Fat Controller inspected the remains of Scruffey.

"As I thought," he remarked. "Rotten wood, rusty frames - unserviceable before it came." He winked at Oliver, and whispered, "Don't tell the trucks that - bad for discipline!"

He strode away, chuckling.

Nowadays, Oliver only takes trucks when the other engines are busy; but they always behave well. "Take care with Mr. Oliver," they warn each other. "He's strong he is. You play tricks on him, and he'll likely pull you in half."

The next day on, while Donald took Richard to see his duck Dilly at the pond near Haultraugh, Duck and Oliver were having problems with a double-decker bus named Bulgy. He was one of those anti-rail road vehicles like George the Steamroller who believed in road supremacy. But Richard thought of the pond and the beach as a nice place where he could study in peace even though it was around Bank Holiday. He and his father eventually got to meet Bulgy when he stopped to take on passengers at Haultraugh.

"Hullo," he grunted. "Have you considered joining the Anti-Rail League?"

"Not unless it was the Pro-Rail League," Christopher cracked. "I know of a bus named Bertie and if you two were related, you would be his polar opposite."

"I know who Bertie is," growled Bulgy. "He's a steam lover who's too small to be of any use."

Then, when all of his passengers got in, Bulgy asked.

"Are you comin' or not?"

"We'll walk, thank you," Richard stood up for himself.

Dismayed, Bulgy drove away.

Richard and Christopher got onto the platform where they met Duck, joined shortly by a fuming Oliver.

"Bulgy's friend has come," he said. "He's red and rude too. He's taking Bulgy's passengers home, so's to leave him free to steal ours."

"Is his name Bulgy too?" Richard asked curiously.

"No," objected Duck. "And Bulgy can never do that. Our passengers want to go to the Big Station."

"Bulgy bets he can get there before us."

"Rubbish! It's much farther by road."

Oliver looked anxious. "Yes, but Bulgy says he knows a short cut."

That evening, Donald, Oliver, and Duck were preparing for the homeward rush. Duck's train was to be the first out, but counting Richard and Christopher, he had few passengers. He was soon to know why!

"Look!" shrilled Oliver. "Look at Bulgy! He's a mean Scarlet Deceiver!"

Bulgy had turned to leave. They could now see a large sign on his left sign which read RAILWAY BUS.

"STOP!" yelled Staff and engines, but it was too late.

"Yah! Booh! Snubs!" jeered Bulgy.

He roared away and the unsuspecting passengers waved happily.

"Come on!" puffed Duck. He, Alice, and Mirabel trundled unhappily away.

Alice and Mirabel chattered crossly. "The nasty old thief, he's stolen our people!"

Duck wondered how to pay Bulgy out. Richard, riding in Alice with his father, thought Bulgy deserved the cutter's torch, but Christopher thought otherwise.

Then, far ahead, a man clambered up the embankment waving a red scarf.

"Danger!" he shouted.

The line here crosses a narrow road over a bridge made of brick. Duck came as close as he could. "So this was Bulgy's short cut!" He chuckled.

Bulgy was wedged under the bridge. Drivers of cars trapped in front and behind were telling him what they thought. Angry passengers, cornering the Conductor, demanded their money back.

From time to time loosened bricks fell making Bulgy yelp.

Bulgy's passengers swarmed round Duck and his coaches.

"He tricked us," they complained. "He said he was a railway bus, but wouldn't accept our return tickets. He wanted us to think railways are no good. Please help us."

Duck's crew examined the bridge. "It's risky," they said, "but we must help the passengers."

"Passengers are 'Urgent'," agreed Duck. "Besides," he chuckled, "it'll pay Bulgy out!"

They laughed, and told the waiting passengers to wait on the other side of the bridge.

"STOP!" wailed Bulgy. "It might fall on me!"

"That," said Duck severely, "would serve you right for telling 'whoppers'."

Bulgy howled as he felt the bridge quiver, waiting for the end, but fortunately for him, it didn't collapse. Duck made good time to the Big Station, and all the passengers caught their trains.

The Fat Controller arranged a "shuttle service" on the Little Western. Passengers changed trains at Bulgy's Bridge.

Bulgy, on the other hand, had to stay till it was mended, but he never learnt sense. He told "whoppers" till no-one could believe his destination boards, and no passengers would travel in him.

He became a henhouse because of this, in a field beside the railway. If he still tells "whoppers" they can do no harm. The hens never listen to them anyway!

Oliver and Duck, however, were sorry when it was time for Richard and Christopher to return home. With Christmas approaching, they had to get back to help their families with the foods and decorations. The father and son said their goodbyes to the Great Western engines at Tidmouth.

"Must you go?" Oliver asked sadly.

"Time for me to go back to the real world," Richard apologized metaphorically.

He gave Oliver's face a big hug and joined his father in Annie.

As Thomas pulled away with his passengers bound for the mainland, Oliver wondered about Christopher. Even though Thomas had yet to tell more about him, he was curious and wondered if the boy's meeting with Thomas was just the same as his and Richard's: the bond of a boy and a tank engine that could never be broken by even the hardest of times.


	10. Moon Dreams

_7:18 am, Wednesday, July 16_ _th_ _1969_

Following Oliver's adventures on the Little Western, the Awdrys returned to Sodor for their summer holiday. Wilbert finally accepted the Fat Controller's offer, as long as the whole family offered to help out with suitable summer jobs on the island. Richard took his father's old position of maintenance work on the engines, with Christopher himself helping him. They practiced his skills on the engines of the Ffarquhar branch line; first with Daisy and Mavis, then Percy and Toby and then Thomas was last.

"Like father, like son," he smiled.

Richard's maturity seemed to have improved over last year now that he knew that the Island of Sodor and almost everything that existed in his father's stories was a reality.

But what really surprised the both of them, was mankind's current race to the moon against the Soviet Union and it was on this day that the Apollo 11 was taking off for the not-too-distant reach of outer space. Richard and Christopher watched the liftoff on their mobile television as they worked, entrancing Thomas as he too thought about the moon and the dark, yet mysterious wonders of the universe beyond his small home.

The Fat Controller was also aware of this and he proposed a space fair that would last until the end of the mission. He chose Thomas to take the children to Elsbridge, where the fair would be held at the cricket field. Caroline and the cricket team thought it nice to have the supposed week off from playing and Richard even got to meet them, with Christopher telling his son about the times he watched their games during his own stay on Sodor.

"I could care less about outer space," said Caroline like the old car she was. "I just love to let my tires cool off."

When Thomas arrived with the children from Ffarquhar, he was just as excited as them.

"I'm starting to love everything about space," he puffed to Richard. "Someday, I'd like to go there."

"You must be joking," giggled Richard. "Who the hell ever heard of an engine in space?"

The idea was soon thrown into the back of his memory when he took a better look at the exhibits: a telescope for children to look through, a slide modeled after a rocket, a trampoline modeled after the lunar surface and a refreshment stand serving moon themed sweets and drinks. In the center of it all was a large display of the solar system, with the sun being in the center and the planets closest to it were Mercury and Venus. The third planet was Earth and the large-scale model looked so pure and pristine compared to whatever troubles were affecting it.

"I wonder if Richard and Christopher can find the Island of Sodor on there," Thomas wondered.

And they did, right between England and Ireland. Christopher appraised his son's knowledge of geography when the teen pinpointed some of the other European countries.

A British official from the National Aeronautics and Space Administration offered to tell the children more about space and other planets. She looked very smart in white with her brown hair styled almost like a crescent. The group of children and the Awdrys moved over to the model of the large orange planet a bit further down.

"This is Jupiter," she explained. "One of the largest planets in our solar system. It is bigger than all of the planets put together. The honor of being the smallest goes to Mercury where the sky is always black."

The children, Richard and Christopher were even more amazing by the model of Saturn, with it's beautiful ring of ice and wintery surface.

"If you were to ride Thomas here to the sun," said the official as she offered cold drinks from the stand. "It would take two-hundred years to get there."

"And by then," Richard cracked. "He'd already be old and broken down."

Christopher saw this as an insult, but he decided to "live a little" before getting a choc-ice bar from the stand.

The official moved over to explain a few details about Venus and Neptune before she encouraged the kids to demonstrate how planets move around the sun and despite the level in track, Thomas got to be the sun.

Richard observed this and tried not to be rude.

"It's very fitting, considering you are the number one engine," he said.

Everyone else knew that it was time to go home when the sun began to set on the horizon. With his newfound knowledge of space, Thomas knew that it was just moving to another part of Earth where it would be morning on that side, while his side was facing the coming of night.

When July 20th came, Christopher and Richard set up the television in Thomas' shed so he could watch the lunar landing with them. Out of the tiny spacecraft came Neil Armstrong, covered from head to toe in his suit, walking down the ladder to exclaim his immortal quote.

"It's one small step for man, one giant leap for mankind."

Thomas, Christopher and Richard were mesmerized by the images of a world so far from their own. A world of darkness, a world of white, a world that they imagined would soon be colonized in the far future. Following Armstrong's most patriotic act of placing the American flag on the surface, the quiet sounds lulled Thomas to sleep and he dreamed of being on the Sea of Tranquility.

Everything he could see was gray and black with the silence of space providing an unpredictable atmosphere that prevented Thomas from knowing what would happen next unless he saw it first. He saw nothing but the flag of his homeland's neighboring country of America, among several things the astronauts left behind: some equipment and the bottom stage of the lunar module _Eagle_.

In front of him, in the moon's sky, was Earth, too far away for Thomas to see Sodor properly. But he knew it was there, small, but significant in a vast universe.

When he woke up the next morning, Richard was there, hands behind his back, smiling curiously at him.

"Well, I thought about what I said earlier and…do you think it's possible that there are other railways on other planets?"

"If I live to see it," answered Thomas sleepily. "that will have to wait until space travel becomes commercial."


	11. Sleeping Beauty

_10:15 p.m., Wednesday, October 1_ _st_ _, 1969_

The Concorde had broken the sound barrier on her test flight, the USSR were performing nuclear tests at Semipalatinsk and Richard was tucking himself into bed when his father knocked on the bedroom door.

"Pack your bags, son. We're leaving tonight."

"What for?" Richard yawned.

"Everybody on Sodor is talking about him: the Duke of Sodor."

Richard got out of bed and asked in a puzzled, yet confused way.

"Is he a man or an engine?"

"Both. A man who you should address as 'Your Grace' and a lost engine who I met during the war. Did I ever tell you about Duke?"

By now, Richard was changing into his clothes.

"Some of him, but I didn't really pay attention."

Christopher frowned.

"Of course, you didn't. Grandfather and I will remind you on the train."

So as soon as their train left for Barrow, Christopher and Wilbert told Richard about Duke.

Duke was a little old engine who lived on the Mid-Sodor Railway with nine other engines, two of his favorites being Stuart and Falcon, who liked to tease Duke and call him "Granpuff", but at least they happy together until hard times came. World War II had nearly exhausted the resources of the mines in the hills and the line was headed towards it's final collapse, causing it to be closed down. For this, the other engines went away while Duke left alone in his shed. As he went to sleep, everything around him changed. Nature had reclaimed the abandoned yard and you would not have known that a shed was there, let alone a little engine asleep inside it.

But Duke's story had managed to spread, the engines told Mr. Hugh, Mr. Hugh told the Thin Controller, the Thin Controller told the Owner, the Owner told his Grace, his Grace told Mr. Fergus Duncan, the Small Controller, the Small Controller told the Thin Clergyman, and the Thin Clergyman told the fat one.

"Is the Thin Clergyman…you?" Richard asked his grandfather when he brought it up.

"Yes," Wilbert nodded. "And I'm sure you remember the fat one, he's my friend Teddy Boston."

"I've met him a couple of times," Richard replied. "But I don't see why he has to be involved."

"He should be involved," said Wilbert. "Because before you went to Sodor, he and I met the Arlesdale engines. They have a new one coming over named Sigrid, who is a diesel, and we took pictures of Bert before he paid us out for splashing him."

Richard gave a small chuckle at this before going back to sleep.

He woke up again when they arrived at Barrow where the Reverend Teddy Boston, and the illustrators Gunvor and Peter Edwards were waiting for them. After the usual greetings, they took Henry's train all the way to Tidmouth where they boarded Donald's train to Arlesburgh. Richard had his breakfast in the Small Controller's office, while the reverends and his father were looking over maps. The illustrators took pictures of the office.

"Our railway," explained the Small Controller, "is laid on the bed of the old one, but swings round to end at the road south of that village. The old line kept straight on, it went north of the village and then into the mountains. The maps show the works at the old station. If Duke is anywhere, he's there."

"Then that is where we are headed," announced Wilbert. "But first, we'll need some transportation."

They walked out to meet Mike, Rex and Bert standing outside their shed.

"Are you writing another book about us?" asked Mike hopefully.

"Yes," said Wilbert as his grandson waved at them. "But it isn't about you. It's about a nice old engine who is lost. But, if you're good, the artists might put you in the pictures."

"Oh, thank you, sir!" gasped Bert.

After explaining the story of Duke, Falcon and Stuart, the small engines sighed sympathetically.

"So you see, poor Duke was left alone and we want to find him, mend him, and make him happy again. Your controller wants to help, but he can't if you're naughty."

Wilbert's words made the three small engines promise to be as good as gold and very soon, they were all setting off t

The men and sole woman spent days at the old station. They came up every morning on Bert's train. He always whistled "good luck" as they walked up the track, but they had nothing in the evening except scratches and torn clothes.

The days grew hard, but the rescuers wouldn't give up. Even though there still no sign of Duke, he had to be there somewhere and last their search ended…by accident.

It was Teddy who found him in the end. Scrambling over a hillock he trod on something that wasn't there, crashed through a hole and landed legs astride on Duke's saddle tank.

"Our Sleeping Beauty himself!" he shouted.

The others heard the noise and ran over to him. But when they peered through the hole, Wilbert forgot about his friend's supposed injuries and saw the metaphorical holy grail.

"At last!" he cried to Christopher.

Christopher saw Duke. He looked almost the same since the last time he saw him: in perfect pristine condition (or at least that's how he looked to him at first). Yet he noticed Duke yawning before he looked up at his visitors.

"Excuse me," inquired Duke. "Are you a vandal? Driver told me vandals break and smash things."

Teddy ruefully felt his bruises.

"Bless you, no!" he laughed. "I'm quite respectable. I dropped in because I couldn't find your door."

Then, after he told Duke about Stuart and Falcon, Wilbert, Christopher and the Small Controller joined them.

"And I'm very sure they will be pleased to see you," chipped in Christopher once Teddy had finished.

Duke squinted his eyes. The man standing before him looked familiar. Then he remembered.

"Christopher, is that you?"

"The one and only."

He pulled his son into the arms.

"And this is my son, Richard."

"Hello," Richard waved. "I heard all about your story from my father and grandfather here and…I would love to see you up and about again."

"So they all remember me!" said Duke softly. "Does His Grace approve?"

"Yes," said Wilbert. "He's coming."

"To see me? How kind! And I'm all dirty! That will never do. Please clean me."

So they set to work, and by the time the Small Controller had fetched His Grace, Duke was the cleanest of anyone in the shed. It had proven to be a lot of hard work for Richard and Christopher, but it ignited some long-overdue experience for the both of them.

"Did you ever ride on Duke?" asked Richard to his father while they worked.

"Yes," Christopher replied. "I once went on a picnic with your mother aboard his special train back in '43. It was fittingly called the 'Picnic'. Isn't that right, Duke?"

"Yes," smiled Duke. "And I'll be taking many more when I am back in service again."

Early next morning, Mike brought workmen and tools. They enlarged Teddy's hole, lifted Duke out and put him on a low-loader to be taken to Arlesburgh by road.

"I'd be ashamed," Duke protested. "To travel by road. In my opinion, it is undignified."

"I'm sorry, Duke," said His Grace. "But the small railway has no suitable trucks that fit your gauge."

Duke gave in then, but so many people came out and greeted him, that he felt better.

"So they still remember me!" he thought happily.

Donald was waiting at Arlesburgh with a flat truck. Everyone cheered as the cranes loaded Duke onto it and still more when he started along the big railway on the last stage of his journey to his new home. Wilbert, Christopher and Richard came along for the ride in Donald's cab.

Peter Sam and Sir Handel were on early term, peeking out of the shed.

"He's there!" they whispered.

Duke opened his eyes.

"You woke me up! In my young days, engines were…"

"Seen and not heard, Granpuff. Remember?"

"I remember," said Duke. "Two idle good-for-nothings named Falcon and Stuart."

"Good for you, Granpuff! We're glad you've come. We can keep you in order now."

"Keep me in order? Impertinence! Be off!"

But Duke's old eyes twinkled and for the first time in years, he smiled happily as he dozed in the sun.


	12. An Environmentally Conscious Engine

_12:00 a.m., Wednesday, April 22, 1970_

While Cornel Wilde was off scouting locations for his adaptation of the John Christopher novel _The Death of Grass_ in the Lake District, the engines of the nearby Sodor, along with Richard, were overseeing the events of the very first Earth Day. Some years ago, thanks to the publication of the book _Silent Spring_ , many people were disturbed over what would happen if the Earth's environment was neglected, so they organized an Environmental Protection Agency and other laws that would mostly cease the acts of pollution and desecration. Some people who considered themselves to be environmentally conscious, would have rather taken diesel engines over steam locomotives, saying that the smoke they produced caused nothing but toxic effects into the air.

"Rubbish!" said Thomas after Richard explained it to him and the others at Vicarstown Sheds. "I have travelled around this island my entire life, mostly, and I never have seen any toxic effects in the air."

"Obliviousness is even worse," Richard stated. "I just hope that thanks to Earth Day, we won't have to worry about that anymore."

The festivities began about 8:00 a.m. and the Fat Controller wanted the stations to be respectfully decorated with the colors of the globe: blue and green, just like his engines.

James, however, stood out above the others.

"You know James," Richard said to him. "Your colour is the colour of what the sun would become if the world ended because of our carelessness. Perhaps for the occasion, we should paint you blue."

"Pah!" snorted James. "If I wanted to respect Earth Day I'd do it wearing my own colours. Red is a very courageous colour for an engine and I'd rather brave the sake of our planet as opposed to taking my next train."

Gordon, who was also nearby, rolled his eyes as did some of the others.

"How many times must we hear about your paint? You act like a flashy teenager!"

But James just rebuked.

"Oh Gordon, you're so 40s!"

Richard interrupted.

"And I'd like to see how you'd feel if you wore something else besides that red paint you're so proud of."

James just scoffed.

"I'd rather stay just the way I am. Red is the only proper colour for an engine, I tell you. But sadly, I have to take some oil tankers to Edward's branch. If they get any of their stuff on me, I'll need a washdown."

Richard wondered how to make James see sense.

Three minutes later, he spoke to the tankers.

"Will you give James a bump when you get to the hill?"

There were times when the Troublesome Trucks would be asked by an engine to bump him or her, but not so much by a human. They giggled and chattered about it.

When James went to take them, their chance came at Gordon's Hill, as they did many times before. Their weight pushed James right down the hill beyond his maximum speed and Richard, who had decided to ride in the cab to help James' crew, prepared himself for the truck's plan, but at the same time, he knew how explosive their contents were.

"ON! ON! ON! ON! ON! ON! ON! ON! ON!" they screamed.

"HELP!" shrieked James. "I'M GOING TO DIE!"

Richard clutched onto the left side wall of the cab as James soared down the hill at a roller-coaster's speed, screaming dramatically like a soprano. The driver shut off steam and applied the brakes, but the tankers were too strong and if they had pushed their limit, James would be flying off the tracks.

They passed through Wellsworth to the very place James had liked least of all, the very field where he had his first accident. As before, he titled sideways, Richard and the crew jumped out and James' body dug a scar into the ground while his were bashed open upon impact and their loads spilled out. The last tanker closest to the brake van exploded from the impacting friction and some of them did the same, while the oil from the spilled tankers caught fire to the field, burning the grass and scaring the cows away. It truly was a simple case of environmental harm, perhaps even a disaster as Richard had put it.

"Oh dear," thought James. "What will become of our natural resources now?"

But he didn't have to worry much about it, the Fat Controller arrived with the breakdown gang demanding an explanation.

"It was those tankers, sir," explained James, "I tried to push them back, but they wouldn't listen."

"Actually, it was my fault," confessed Richard. "I thought I could put James in place by asking the tankers to give him a bump. It should serve him right for being such a 'flashy teenager!'"

"I understand, Richard," said the Fat Controller. "But asking trucks to derail my engines is not the kind of discipline they deserve. We do not allow such punishments on the North Western Railway. Now James will have to be repainted while you and your father have a little talk about destroying the environment. The EPA won't be happy when we tell them about this!"

He pointed to the burning field and dragged Richard into his car like the hooligan that he was.

As Edward bought James to the Works, Richard sat before his father in the Fat Controller's Tidmouth office.

"I knew how to handle trucks when I was here the first time," the famous father told his son. "Whenever they acted out of line, I threatened to dismantle them."

"Did you use a crowbar?" his son asked curiously.

"Somewhat," he tried to explain.

He imitated the gesture of a strict schoolmarm slapping her hand with a stick in the other. Richard almost laughed at this, but he kept a straight face once the Fat Controller walked back into the office. But instead of a punishment, what Richard heard from him was unexpected.

"James told about what you said to him and I agree with you Richard. Perhaps painting James blue will remind him of what's important in life."

So when James was taken to the works, the order had been carried out. They had placed buckets of blue behind James where he couldn't see him and his driver and fireman were let in on the surprise, agreeing with the painters that they would not tell James about what they were going to do with him until the job was finished.

No one seemed to notice when James came back to the shed with Richard. They were talking about a new kind of "engine of the sky". It was blue they said, then they all called him an environmentally conscious engine and laughed a lot.

"Looks like red isn't the only proper colour for an engine now, is it, James?" asked Thomas from nearby.

"OH SHUT UP!" the former red engine hissed letting off steam.

James thought that the big engines were being very silly. But Richard thought that his plan had taken a slightly humorous turn for the better.


End file.
